


A is for Archer

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Series: Kindergarten 'verse [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Blatant use of Fraction's Hawkeye - Freeform, Deaf Clint, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kindergarten AU, Kindergarten Teacher Clint Barton, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kindergarten teacher Clint Barton has never been in a healthy stable relationship in his life. Hell, mostly he doesn't bother leaving his house unless his best friend drags him out for 'socialising'. He's happy with his life as a hermit; he has a dog, and fifteen sticky tiny humans to teach core skills to. That's more than enough commitment for him </p><p>But that's all about to change when the new school year brings along with it some major surprises, such as Phil Coulson, the widowed father of one of his students and owner of the bluest eyes Clint's ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brassmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brassmama/gifts).



> Thank you to CallipygianGoldfish who is like the coolest beta ever. At current count, we discussed this story over 236 threads within 11 e-mails. She deserves all the good things for putting up with me. Thank you bb:D
> 
> Thank you to shighola for New York - picking, this fic would be incredibly inaccurate otherwise! 
> 
> Thanks also to Max72 who helped me through the first draft, and made the beautiful banner:)
> 
> A playlist is available on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/soniclipstick/aa-is-for-archer). 
> 
>  

 

“Should we take a break? I think we should take a break,” Clint asks from the comfy couch he's sprawled on. There are lesson plans, posters, pencil crayons and markers scattered all over the coffee table in front of him. 

“Clint, we’ve been working for all of twenty minutes,” Steve says from his position on the floor where he’s putting together craft kits. It’s a sweltering Sunday afternoon, and the two of them are in Clint’s apartment in Bed Stuy, making final preparations for their respective kindergarten classes at Kirby Lee Elementary School. Lucky’s decided to plop himself down in front of the table fan though, blocking the only source of air flow in the room. But Clint loves his dog too much to deny him the momentary relief. That doesn't mean that Clint is more than ready to run down and get ice cream, or iced coffee, or something else with the word ice in it.

“But Steeeeve...”

“Don’t you have a student teacher coming in tomorrow? At least try and be prepared for her sake,” Steve fixes him with an expression that tells him that Steve just expects better. It’s either because he's ex-army or because he looks like one of those superheroes from the _Action_ comics Clint used to steal from other kids at the orphanage. Either way, Clint feels properly chastised.

Urgh. He really shouldn’t complain. At least he only has a morning class. Steve has a morning and an afternoon group, whereas Clint spends his afternoons teaching archery. He’s almost done with the planning; he just has the final few weeks of the school year left...

Yet.

Yet even the mere idea of exerting the slightest amount of energy makes his brain want to shut down like an overheating laptop. What he needs right now is a break, time for the fans to cool down the processors before everything crashes and the hard drive is wiped.

It’s the end of summer in New York City and Clint’s skin is going to melt off soon.

The front door opens with a protesting groan and lets in his best friend, Natasha Romanov, clad in a dark blue maxi dress and holding, oh thank God, three iced frappes.

“Hey losers, still not done with prep, I guess?” she asks as she hands over the drinks and settles on the ground, head resting on Lucky’s side.

“Not all of us have the driving need to finish all our prep two weeks after the last school year ends,” Steve retorts. “And I’m the one with two classes and no student teacher.”

“Oh shut your pie hole. It’s her first placement and she has classes in the afternoon,” Clint shoots back, and then takes a moment to down half of his frappe. Mmm, mint chocolate. The last thought he has before brain freeze hits him is that he loves Natasha. 

“I like enjoying my summer vacation, and what’s your excuse, dummy?” Natasha turns a raised eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh easy, I’m a lazy fuck,” he answers, spreading himself out onto the couch while balancing the still cold drink on his forehead. He really should finish his plans; it would mean less work later on in the school year when impromptu events crop up and fight for his time. On the other hand, his shirt is plastered to his frame and he’s probably already dripped sweat onto his notes.

It’s New York in August, and it’s not like he has an air conditioner.  

* * *

It's Clint's own damn fault he didn't even bother finding out the identity of his placement until the day she was supposed to meet up with him. The only thing that comes to mind when he meets her is _aww Clint no._  

Kate's seen him crack his clavicle with a bowstring when she was eight years old so there's absolutely no hero worship in her eyes at least.

Kate Bishop. Socialite, heiress, and Olympic archery champion. Clint had been long out of the Olympic circuit by the time Kate had won the medal for Juniors Women. Clint had taught her for three years, then he'd won the Olympics and left to go to college. It had been a surprise to turn on the television a few years later and learn that she'd been using his codename Hawkeye since then.

He sees the emotions passing through her eyes like Polaroid photographs- first surprise, followed by anger, finally coming to settle on irritation. The anger is surprising, the rest isn't. 

"Hawkeye," Clint manages to croak out once he gets over the shock.

"Hawkeye." She replies.

He wonders what the chances are of two former Olympic archery champions deciding to become kindergarten teachers, but then he has no time to think about that because he's got a rather.... _interesting_ group of students this year who need his attention.

And class isn't even in session yet.

Clint and Kate end up flopped on their stomachs on the story time carpet and going through the student folders. They’re practically empty at the moment, but it’s always good to get an idea before the kids show up at orientation tomorrow.

“Wade Wilson has ADHD,” Clint says, holding up the file. “This is going to be lively group, s’for sure.”

“Well, at least it won’t be boring.” Kate says before sitting up. “Alright, let’s take a head count on kids who’re gonna need some extra attention. Wade’s got ADHD, Kurt Wagner and Loki Laufeyson don’t speak too much English, and Anthony Smith is partially hearing impaired.”

“We can handle Wade between the two of us, I've already signed up Kurt and Loki for ESL. I speak ASL, and we can talk to the parents about speech therapy.”

“Oh, forgot about that.” Kate says with a teasing smile. He mockingly glares at her; _as if_ she'd forgotten _. As if_ she hadn't stolen his hearing aids as a prank when she was ten.

Anyway. Bygones are bygones, holding grudges is ridiculous and beneath Clint (unless dogs get hurt in the process), so he moves on.

“Loki’s Thor’s younger brother by the way.”

“Gym teacher? Tall blonde demigod?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

“Damn.”

“He’s adopted though, he’s like Thor’s nephew or something. Thor said that his father was going to give him up so Thor's parents decided to adopt him.”

“That's nice of them.”

"Yeah, no. It's more about family and duty with their dad to be honest. He's a total dick." And Clint's totally not terrified of him.

"Alrighty then. Good to know."

The next few minutes are quiet as Clint tries to read the next file, but is distracted by the thought of how it might have turned out if he’d been adopted. He lets it go. He'd been seven and besides, he'd had Barney. It’s not something that would have ever happened.

* * *

 

On the day of the orientation, in true Clint Barton fashion, he wakes up half an hour after the alarm clock rings and finds himself scrambling to make it out of the house. Lucky has decided that it’s the perfect time to be underfoot and manages to trip Clint not once, but twice. He’s already cut himself shaving once, when he drops his coffee mug and pricks his fingers like a damn fairy tale princess. By the time he leaves the house in a white button up and slacks, he’s sporting two Elmo Band-Aids.

Fifty-five minutes of travel is a blessing from Bed Stuy to the Upper East Side, which he spends looking over his class list again. It’s a relatively small group of fifteen, but with kids the like of Wade and two ESL students, he’s very glad to have Kate. Not that she’s ever going to know that. He’s been looking over her lesson plans and the activity schedule. They're supposed to compare notes but he sort of wants to hide his own because hers are ridiculously good. How does a twenty-two year old socialite get this good before the start of her first placement? He doesn’t know. He’s just glad. Not that he's telling the little hearing aid thief.

By the time he makes it to the secretary’s office to sign in, he’s gotten more than a few funny looks at the Band-Aids from the parents waiting outside for the doors to open. Darcy ends up being the exception, but she’s probably seen worse, being the head of office staff and all. She winks at him and passes him a thermos- coffee from the teacher’s lounge (it’s black and thick, but most importantly, _free_ ). Clint voices his thanks and makes his way to his classroom. Kate’s waiting for him with a Starbucks latte in hand.

“I can’t believe you drink that sludge," she tells him.

“I can’t believe you spent seven bucks on water steeped in ground beans and milk. Ready?”

“I was born ready.” Clint groans and looks up at the ceiling. Born ready, what the hell does that even mean? “Oh shut up, let’s go.”

They find Steve on their way back to the main foyer and Darcy unlocks the main doors. Jane and Erik walk out of the principal’s office and smile at them. The parents and children walk in relatively quietly. Clint has noticed over the years that they’re always a bit timid the first time around. Not all of them though, a little boy with dark hair and a dark green t-shirt runs up to Jane and tugs on her skirt, Clint observes as she in turns crouches in front of him and gives him a kiss on the cheek. That must be Loki. Once everyone is crowded around the staff, orientation begins. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Erik starts, “My name is Mr. Selvig, I am the principal here at Kirby Lee Elementary School, this is Mrs. Foster-Odinson, she’s the vice-principal. Thank you for taking your time to come in today...“

Clint tunes him out and looks around at the students. The Odinsons are recognizable. Clint remembers them from Jane and Thor's wedding and the few family events Darcy has dragged him to. There’s a little girl with long dark hair clinging to her father, already in tears. Clint winces, that doesn’t look so good. A little boy is holding onto his mother's legs rather tightly, resisting his twin sister who seems to be trying to pull him away. Leo and Jemma Fitz-Simmons then. They’re absolutely adorable. It’s Clint’s fourth year in teaching and he and Steve had shared identical kids with the personality of the Weasley twins once before. It took them a few weeks before they could figure out when the twins were switching classes. He’s glad the Fitz-Simmons twins are at least fraternal. Jemma is going to be in his class, while Leo is in Steve’s class.

Clint tunes back in as Erik says Steve’s name. Show time, then.

Steve takes over from Erik with a wide smile, half the parents and kids smile back because that’s how amazing Steve is in general. Even Clint ends up breaking out into a grin for no reason. “Good morning everyone, my name is Mr. Rogers, and I’m teaching the mixed class of half day and fall day kindergarteners this year.”

“I’m Mr. Barton, and I teach our half-day students. Ms. Bishop here is our student teacher who will be helping me out this year. We’re all very excited to get to know you. We’ll be going to our classrooms later, but first we'd like to take you on a quick tour.” 

They head on together, minus the principals, into the playground where the children are to wait until 8:20 when the aids will begin lining up the children. After explaining school policy, they head back in through the music room, art room and the gym before splitting up. Kate calls out the names of his students from his class list and leads the families towards their classroom. There are cubicles across from his door where backpacks and outdoor shoes are to be stored, and jackets when the bad weather takes it’s turn in the winter.

“This is room 104,” Clint says. “This will be the homeroom for the rest of the year.” He spends a few minutes explaining the curriculum and his goals for the year, and then lets the parents wander around the spacious classroom after asking them to take an orientation package home with them before they leave.

Clint and Kate had spent a better part of yesterday setting up a craft corner for the kids as well and educational items for the parents to look through. Though Jemma runs to the reading corner, most of the other children stick with their parents.

The reading corner is outfitted with a plush green carpet and throw pillows along with cubicles full of craft supplies. It’s boxed in to the sides by the walls filled with bookshelves, and another bookshelf to the side. There are four round tables near large windows, where chairs have been set up in groups of four, and one group of three. There are containers with supplies on each desk and a chalkboard with lines drawn in. Alphabets and numbers decorate the walls, as well as coloured corkboards waiting for children’s art. The teachers’ desk is to the corner, and for this year, a second one has been added to it for Kate. Lanterns hang from the ceiling along with origami butterflies- Kate’s idea (Clint’s not complaining, but if the kids ask how to make origami, she’s on her own). There is an oversized calendar and a learning clock on one of the walls, both heavily laminated. To another corner, Merlin the guinea pig is fast asleep in his cage, not aware of the attention he’s starting to gather from some of the more curious students.

Clint lets them wander for a while, then notices that the little girl with the long hair is still crying on her father’s shoulder. The father, a man with thinning brown hair dressed in a two piece suit, is sitting on the cushions by the windowsill and trying to calm her down to no avail. Clint turns to Kate to keep an eye out for anything, and then walks towards them to sit down beside the pair. The father sighs and looks at him for help.

“Hi there,” Clint says. “My name is Mr. Barton. What’s yours?”

She looks up from her dad’s neck, gazing at him with big hazel eyes before whispering. “Skye.” Ah. The Coulsons.

“Skye? Wow! That’s a pretty name. Now why’s a girl with such a pretty name so upset?” Clint asks. Skye looks away and stares at her father, lower lip still trembling.

“You know, your daddy’s not going anywhere today,” Clint whispers. She looks back at him. “But Jemma over there is all alone with those picture books. Do you want to try and keep her company?”

She looks at him distrustfully and looks back at her father again. “I’ll make sure your dad doesn’t go anywhere okay?” He tells her. And Mr. Coulson nods at her.

“I promise, Skye, daddy’s not going anywhere.” She slowly stands up and treads towards the reading corner, turning back every couple of steps to make sure her dad hasn’t abandoned her.

“Mr. Coulson, right?”

“Yes, uh- I’m so sorry,” Mr. Coulson says, holding out his hand. Clint shakes it, Coulson has a firm grasp. “She wasn't always so shy. My wife passed away eight months ago and Skye has withdrawn since then.”

Taking a closer look at the other man, despite the pristine suit, it becomes obvious that he’s drained. There are deep bags under his eyes, and he looks fit, but sits slumped. This is a man still half in mourning. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Clint says. “It’s not your fault. Lots of children have separation anxiety.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

“’s'for sure." Clint winces at the contraction. This is a private school, not Iowa, he berates himself. "Could I offer some advice?”

“Of course.”

“Give her something of yours to hold onto for the day, a photograph, or a piece of jewellery, or something else that she has to give back to you by the end of the day. That way, she’ll know you’re coming for her. Or make plans for after school so she has something to look forward to,” Clint suggests, catching the other man’s eyes.

“Oh. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Clint replies.

That’s when an elderly woman introduces herself as Mrs. Parker-Jameson, Peter’s aunt. Clint stands up and spends the next few minutes in conversation with her. When he turns around, he finds Mr. Coulson nearly asleep on the cushions. He leads Peter’s aunt away from him, hoping the other man manages to get a little bit of sleep while keeping an eye focused on Skye. Later on, Frigga joins him.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be teaching Loki. I am fond of Steve, but I think Loki would progress further with you,” Frigga tells him in her familiar Swedish accent.

“Um, thanks, I hope so,” Clint replies, looking around for Odin. Not that Clint doesn’t like the man, he’s just really pompous and makes Clint feel like a total dumbass. Okay, maybe he doesn't like him.

“Don't worry, dear. Odin’s having coffee with Erik,” Frigga says with a knowing smile. Clint blushes at being so obvious and they talk for a few minutes before she bids him goodbye. Loki and Frigga leave with an orientation package in hand and a few extra cookies in Loki’s pocket. Clint sighs, that kid’s so sneaky.

He decides to worry about Loki’s morals another day and focuses on the other children. At the craft table, Skye and Jemma are staring at a boy who has to be Anthony Smith. Anthony is signing furiously away at them while the two girls look at him, both sharing identical expressions of complete confusion. The Smiths are busy examining the calendar wall and clearly hasn’t noticed their child’s disappearance. Clint walks towards them and sits on the last empty chair.

“Hi girls,” he simultaneously says and signs. “This is Anthony. Anthony, this is Jemma, and this Skye.”

“Hi Anthony,” Jemma says loudly.

“Hi,” Anthony signs at the girls.

Jemma turns to Clint. “Why isn’t he speaking?”

“He is, he’s just using his hands instead. This is American Sign Language.”

Anthony looks at him and grins, signing, “You can sign too?”

“Yes, I can, but Jemma and Skye can’t. See how I’m speaking and signing? Do you think you could do that too?”

Anthony frowns.

“You could teach them how to sign,” Clint suggests. “Girls, do you want to learn sign language?”

“It looks like fun,” Skye says softly.

“I love languages, I want to learn another,” Jemma adds. Anthony seems to have heard them well, because he grins.

 “I can teach you,” Anthony shouts, slurring his words together while signing. And yes, he’s going to need speech therapy.

Jemma frowns. “Why does he talk like that? It’s weird.”

Clint knows exactly what’s going to happen before it does. Anthony crumples and his eyes fill up with tears, he sniffs once and begins to run off, but Clint stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says and begins to sign again. “She doesn’t know. That just means we have to explain, that’s all.”

Anthony sniffs again and nods, looking at his shoes.

“It’s not very nice to call something weird because you don’t understand it, Jemma. Just like you don’t speak sign language, he doesn’t speak a lot of spoken English.”

“Oh!” Jemma exclaims. “So he teach us sign, and we teach him to speak!”

“Exactly! What do you think, Anthony? Does that sound like fun?”

Anthony nods and gives him a watery smile. Clint grins back and stands up, crisis adverted. “Alright, I’m going to leave you three alone now, have fun, and be nice!”

He turns around to find the Smiths looking at him, Mrs. Smith with tears in her eyes. “You can sign!”

“Well,” Clint grins and points to his hearing aid.

“It’s a relief,” Mr. Smith says, “We weren’t sure of sending him to a hearing school, but if you can speak ASL, it makes things so much simpler.”

The trio leave the children and walk to his desk, where it’s much quieter. “Anthony is only partially deaf, and he’s had cochlear implants for a while now, but he’s very shy about speaking because he knows he sounds different,” Mrs. Smith admits.

“Has he been taking speech therapy?”

“No. We just moved from Boston and we haven’t looked into it yet.”

“I have some training, and more time for Anthony since I have a student teacher. I can work with him one on one a little bit during class time, but a speech therapist is really worth it,” Clint suggests. He remembers being twenty-three and slurring his words until Natasha forced him to take speech therapy. “Here, I’ve got the number,” he pulls out his cell phone and one of the school business cards on the desk. Quickly copying down the number of his old speech therapist, he passes it on.

“Thank you so much.”

“Of course, let me know if you do get in contact, it would be better for Anthony if the two of us had a concrete plan to work together you know?”

“Sure thing.” Mrs. Smith promises.

“We can talk more about it during parent teacher conferences in two weeks,” he adds.

Kate comes to him a moment later with the Wagners. He shakes their hands.

“Mr. Barton, we have recently moved here from Germany, and Kurt does not speak much English. Should we send him to private language lessons?” Mr. Wagner asks him in clear, but heavily accented English.

“Umm, that’s really your choice, Mr. Wagner, but he’s barely five years old, we offer English as a Second Language, or ESL at Kirby Lee. I've signed him up so you will definitely get a call from our ESL teacher Ms. Munroe.”

“Will it not delay his learning?”

“Mr. Wagner, in kindergarten we focus on core skills, and language is one of them, but a large part of it is play and setting routines. I wouldn’t seriously start worrying about his marks this year.”

“Let him be a child a bit longer, Jörg,” Mrs. Wagner says to her husband with a soft smile. “Thank you, Mr. Barton.”

Slowly, the families trickle out and Clint finds Skye playing with Kate, Mr. Coulson still asleep on the cushioned windowsill. Kate shoots him a look and Clint walks towards the other man, hesitant to wake him up. He looks shattered.

“Mr. Coulson?” He asks cautiously, but it’s useless because he shakes awake, suddenly looking very embarrassed.

“Oh for goodness sake, I am so sorry. I’m not usually like this- I-” Mr. Coulson stammers as he shoots upright from his seat.

“It’s really okay,” Clint replies warmly. “You looked like you needed the sleep, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“That obvious?”

“A bit yeah,” Clint grins at him. Skye takes that moment to run back to her father.

“Dada look what me and Ms. B made!” She shows off the picture. Mr. Coulson takes it from her.

“Ms. B and I, sweetheart, and it’s beautiful.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Sure,” he answers and takes her hand.

They say their goodbyes and then Clint and Kate are left alone.

“I think this year is going to be marvelous.” Kate announces before taking her bag from her desk.

 _Marvelous. What kind of twenty-two year old uses the word marvelous_?

Clint does have to agree with the sentiment, even if he’ll fight the idea that he does tooth and nail, just in case any telepaths are being nosy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was born out of my need to see Clint as a kindergarten teacher in May. It wouldn't have happened at all if brassmama hadn't encouraged me to write it, so this is for you, dear. Special thanks to everyone on tumblr who had to deal with me bitch and whine for seven months. I hope you like it.
> 
> I'll be posting one chapter a day. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments so far, I appreciate them!
> 
> Trivia of the day: Anthony Smith is based off of [this real life story](http://marvel.com/news/comics/18801/meet_the_blue_ear) of a hearing impaired boy named Anthony Smith, whose mother e-mailed marvel for assistance after her son refused to wear hearing aids because "superheroes don't wear hearing aids". Marvel created the deaf super hero Blue Ear, and then sent the family pin ups of Hawkeye from the 80's, when Clint had been 80% deaf in one ear and has used a hearing aid.

The first day of the school year is chaotic and it ends after two tearful outbursts and a playground fight. All in all, it's rather mild in Clint’s experience. It begins with the fifteen students being led to their cubicles by the aides. One of the aides, Janine, has Skye on her hip. Clint has seen a lot of children cry on the first day of school, and usually it's due to losing their parent's attention. It's obvious this isn't the case with Skye. The little girl looks genuinely upset at the idea of losing her father as silent tears fall down her cheeks.

Clint takes over and asks Janine to help the other children with their indoor shoes. And this is how Clint finds himself a few minutes later- in the reading corner with Skye, rubbing her back as she clutches her father’s tags like they’re her lifeline. Kate takes attendance while the other children settle into their seats, quietly chattering away at their table mates.

Clint looks up and sees Jemma looking curiously towards him and Skye. “Skye, do you remember Jemma? You had fun with her last time, right?”

“Yeah?” Skye looks up at him, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand. Clint forces himself not to wince; good habits can always be taught a little later, he thinks.

“I think she wants you to go and sit next to her.”

Clint had decided to let the children sit wherever they wanted on the first day. He could always change things up later. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So how about you go wash up, and then you can come sit with everyone else?”

“Um, okay.”

He leads her to the bathroom and waits outside. Skye returns a few minutes later looking much better for wear, and smiles at him before heading towards the round table where Jemma is sitting beside Anthony and Loki. The others have their laminated nametags pinned on them, and Clint helps Skye with hers - and heck yeah, talk about perfect timing- because Kate looks up from the computer, finished with attendance, and stands up.

“Good morning, class! Could I have your attention please?” Clint asks while walking to the front of the classroom. The children continue to prattle, so Clint claps his hands, “Attention please!” They all turn to him. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Mr. Barton, you can call me Mr. B if that’s easier for you. I’m your homeroom teacher this year. Ms. Bishop here is also going to be with us.”

“You can call me Ms. B, but not Mrs. B,” Kate adds with a wink, making the kids giggle.

“Now, let’s go over some classroom rules,” Clint continues, “When I clap my hands, everyone stops doing whatever they're doing and listens to me. Only one person talks at a time, that means when I’m speaking, everyone listens, and when Ms. B is speaking, we all listen to her. If you want to say something, you raise your hand until I call your name and then you can speak, and we ALL have to listen.”

Jemma raises her hand right away. “Yes, Jemma?”

“Because it’s rude to interpret, right?”

“Interrupt, and yes, exactly. And if everyone starts talking at once, nobody will hear anything.” Clint adds. “I know your parents sent craft supplies with you. Our second rule is that we share our stuff with the students at our tables, but we always ask first for permission. That means if I want something from Ms. B, I say," he turns to look at Kate, "Ms. B may I have your eraser please?”

“Of course you may,” Kate goes to her desk and brings him her eraser.

“And we always say thank you. Thank you, Ms. B.”

“You’re welcome Mr. B."

“Next, every morning, you’ll come in with Janine and Carrie, and you’ll put on your indoor shoes and come and take your seats. You all did a great job today,” Clint reminds himself to thank the aides later for sticking around until the kids were all seated. “But it’s something we’ll keep practicing.”

“My daddy says practice makes perfect,” Kamala says.

“That’s true,” Clint concedes, “but next time, you raise your hand before you speak, okay?”

Kamala blushes, “Oops, sorry.”

“That’s all right, we’re going to practice our rules every day until we’re really good at them. Next, the first thing I’d like for you all to do is to pull out your folders from your backpacks.” He gives them a few minutes to do so, then continues on explaining their schedule. Obviously, during the first few weeks, he’s going to repeat this a lot, but routine is key. By the time he’s done, the PA cackles on and the morning announcements begin.

The pledge of allegiance begins and Clint has to remind himself to tell the children to stand up during the pledge and walks around with Kate helping the children place their palms on their chests.

The rest of the morning goes well; Clint and Kate begin with singing the alphabet song, which some of the kids seem to already know. Afterwards they practice reading the calendar, describing the weather and learning the number of the day, and then the class is escorted to the reading corner. By the time the children sit down, they’re all talking again. Clint claps his hands, then one more time when no one but Jean and Scott quiet down.

“Class! Quiet down, please! Does anyone remember what it means when I clap my hands?”

Jemma opens her mouth, then shuts it and raises her hands. She’s a fast one, Clint thinks. Jean and a little girl with blonde locks- right, Gwen- also have their hands raised, so Clint picks Gwen. He hasn’t heard the girl say a single word until now.

“You may speak, Gwen.”

She smiles a gigantic smile and shakes her little head in excitement, “It means you talk and we hear.”

“That’s correct, I talk and everyone else listens. Good job, Gwen.” Clint holds out the book in his hand so everyone can see the cover, “This book is called Charlotte’s Web.”

“What’s a Charlotte?” Wade asks.

“Put your hand up before you talk, please,” Clint says patiently, knowing it’s something he’s going to repeat at least another twenty times today. “Charlotte is the name of a spider.”

“Eww!” Most of the class says.

Clint and Kate look at each other, both biting their lips in an effort not to laugh. “She’s a nice spider though, and she’s going to make friends with Wilbur, who’s a piglet.”

Loki raises his hand, “What is pigilet?” he asks.

“Piglet.” Clint corrects gently, “It’s a baby pig. Charlotte and Wilbur are friends, and we’re going to read about them a little bit every day, until we finish the whole book together. If there is ever a word that you don't understand, just raise your hand and I'll stop and explain.”

He reads for ten minutes, pausing every once in a while to answer questions from students. Anthony raises his hand a few times, asking in a sluggish voice for explanations, which is the first time he’s spoken, and they take a small break to explain sign language.

Clint had decided not to bring Anthony's deafness up and put Anthony on the stage unless it came out on its own. Treating Anthony like the other children is important. The children are curious and try to repeat some of the signs as Clint makes them. It’s a success, in his opinion.

For the most part they stay quiet, though Wade takes to braiding Kamala’s long brown hair. She seems to have given him permission, so Clint leaves them at it. He does, however, test the children afterwards to see if they were listening.

“Wade, what was Fern feeding the piglet?”

“I don’t know- other piglets?”

Clint swallows his sigh. “No, Wade, piglets don’t eat other piglets. Does anyone else know?”

Gwen and Jemma’s hands shoot up. Jemma looks like she can barely stay seated, a clear Hermione that one, so Clint has mercy and picks her.

“Milk!”

“That’s right! Now, everyone did a great job staying quiet while I was reading, so we get to play now!”

They spend until nine thirty playing Simon Says, giving the children a way to vent some energy while learning to listen carefully. Then it’s a bathroom break and then it's time for numbers. After the lesson Clint distributes math workbooks to everyone and writes the number one clearly on the black board. While the class sets on copying the number repeatedly in their textbooks, Clint and Kate walk around and help.

It takes Kate three seconds to run over to Wade and Clint stands up from where he’s helping Kurt to see what’s going on. “Wade, you can’t use scissors to write with. Scissors are for cutting things, pencils are for writing, okay?”

“But-“

“No buts,” Kate interrupts, putting the scissors back in the craft basket in the centre of the round table. “The craft basket is for craft time. Right now we’re doing numbers. Afterwards, you can have the scissors if you want. Deal?”

“Deal,” Wade accepts the pencil she’s offering.

“Now, could you please show me how you do the number one?”

Wade grins and focuses on his workbook. Kate takes a fraction of a second to look over in Clint’s direction and he gives her a thumbs-up before returning his attention to Kurt.

“Is this right?” Kurt asks, pointing to a wobbly number 1 that’s painstakingly been kept within the lines.

“Yes it is, you keep going at it, buddy.” Clint pats him on the back and stands back up again.

Before long, it’s craft time. Wade's excited shout of joy at having the craft scissors back in his hands is interrupted by shouts from the adjoining classroom. Steve opens the door connecting his classroom to Clint's, holding a wailing little boy who Clint recognises as Jemma’s twin brother.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Clint asks Leo who ignores him in favour of crying. By then, Jemma’s noticed, and she runs towards them, tripping and falling on her face, but standing right back up again to come towards them. Clint reminds himself to tell the class not to run inside. He'll deal with it later, he decides. Because Leo calms down as soon as he sees Jemma, and that's much more important at the moment.  If Clint has to chose between disciplining and comforting a distressed child, there isn't really much of choice.

“You have to be quiet. We’re making spiders,” Jemma tells him. Steve sets him down and looks sheepishly at Clint.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking back at his own class. “He wouldn’t believe Jemma was just over here. I told him they could see each other and then he would need to get back in class.”

“No worries. Jemma’s been good. What about Brian?” Clint asks. Elizabeth Braddock, the other twin in the class, has been quiet so far.

“He’s fine. Okay, Leo.” Steve crouches down and looks at the little boy. “Your sister is right here, everything’s going to be all right, but it’s time you go back to class all right?”

Leo’s face begins to crumple again but Jemma interrupts the explosion early on. “I’ll give you my spider afterwards okay? Go back with Mr. Rogers now.”

“I don’t like spiders.”

“You don’t want my present then?”

“NO! _I want_!”

“Okay, good, then go back.” Jemma returns to her seat without being told to, and Leo heads back with Steve.

Thankfully, the rest of the day runs smoothly. The class needs some help lining up to go to the art room, but between Clint, Kate and Janet van Dyne, they manage somehow. Clint leaves Kate with “Ms. van Dyne” and begins writing up notes in the brand new agendas that are sitting on his desk. Homework is mentioned, as well as information packages on guinea pig sitting over the weekend.

By the time the children return with Jan and Kate, Clint is done and has the agendas set on the children’s tables. Kate leads the children towards Merlin’s cage and has them all sit down. Clint gives them a quick introduction to Merlin, who’s awake during the day for a change. Clint takes him out quickly and Merlin clambers up to his shoulders. Clint sits down and takes Merlin back into his hands before explaining how to be gentle with guinea pigs. Kitty is the only one brave enough to come and pet him, and she’s incredibly gentle with him.

And then it’s already 11:15 so Clint and Kate help the class pack up, handing out the agendas as well. It takes the children another ten minutes to change into outdoor shoes, right as the aides come to take them to the right buses.

Clint closes the door behind him and looks at Kate, who’s grinning at him. “That was awesome!”

Clint doesn’t manage to reply because Steve comes in through the other door and sighs, sinking to the ground slowly. His kids are on lunch break at the moment. “I should have stayed in the army,” he grumbles, running a hand through his blonde locks.

Clint barks out a laugh and walks towards Steve, settling on the cushions on the windowsill. Kate follows, “That bad?”

“Leo asks for his sister every five minutes, Brian’s a brat, Miles likes to climb walls and actually manages it. And I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want Valeria Reed.”

“I had Franklin, I am not doing that twice.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asks.

“Franklin and Valeria Reed can probably do calculus in their heads. However, their mother believes that going to a year of kindergarten before skipping grades is important for their social development.” Steve explains.

“Which leads to having children in your class who constantly correct you,” Clint sighs.

“Well, it’s not like they can help it, they’re just bored in class.”

“Oh, that’s for sure. Except for the part where Valeria wanted to discuss imaginary numbers in numbers. The rest of the children can barely count up to ten, and she wants to talk about the square root of negative one.”

Clint chuckles. “Franklin wanted to discuss anthropogenic climate change when we did weather in the morning.”

“Jesus,” Kate groans.

“Christ, amen,” Clint adds.  

Steve stands back up and stretches. “I need food. And more energy. But right now, I need food.” Steve waves goodbye and walks back to his classroom.

“All right, let’s have a quick run through.”

They settle down in the reading corner, flopped on their stomachs and going through the day. Kate is making notes in between bites of her Cobb salad. Clint’s BLT is long gone, and he’s halfway through an apple.

They part ways at the subway, heading in opposite directions. Clint spends the next three hours at the rec center working with intermediate archery students, and then training alone. It’s six in the evening by the time he gets home, and Lucky’s not in, which means he’s either with Simone or taken to wandering through the apartment building. It’s fine either way, Lucky’s independent. It's not like Lucky's Clint's dog, he tells himself as he curls into the couch.

He returns as Clint turns in for the night, and then crawls into bed right on top of Clint. Clint’s going to sweat like a pig, but he doesn’t care. He turns and buries his fingers in Lucky’s fur. “Good night, pizza dog.”

* * *

The first two weeks of school go without much incident. Kate’s a natural with children and they love her. Wade, especially since the scissor incident, will do anything to make her smile, the little flirt. Skye remains incredibly shy, only talking to Clint or Jemma. Loki and Anthony are a dangerous team, Loki having quickly picked up sign language, and take to making secret plans, hands dropping behind them as soon as they see Clint looking. Clint thinks that one of these days that the squirt is going to take over the world or something equally ominous.

Surprisingly, it’s not Wade, but Jubilee that manages to set something on fire, having sneaked into a fifth grade science classroom after missing her bus on a Friday evening. Thankfully, Natasha and her ninja spy skills in her own classroom mean that Jubilee is unhurt, even though Natasha sports a nasty burn on her arm now. One look at it and Jubilee had burst into tears, promising to _never ever ever do that ever again, I’m so sorry Ms. Mr. B’s friend!_

* * *

Before they know it, Clint’s sent e-mails for parent teacher week and it’s the Friday of the meetings. There are no classes for the day so instead of children, it’s the parents who are trekking in the mud and water from outside. Clint doesn’t even want to think about how he’s getting home. The weatherman had promised heat, and he was dressed in a t-shirt for casual Fridays. He’d just made it inside the school building when the pouring rain had begun its assault.  

Clint had cancelled archery classes earlier, having planned parent teacher meetings throughout the afternoon. Kate is with him through the morning, which is probably the only reason he manages to make it through. For every engaged parent like Mr. and Mrs. Khan, there is another parent the likes of the Mr. Wagner, desperate to push their child to the limits, even in kindergarten.

The Wilsons are a quirky family from Toronto who are happy with Wade’s development. They’re working on concentration building exercises. Clint recommends the game _Memory_ , and assures the parents that Wade’s doing well, though Clint comments that he would like to have so much energy for himself sometimes.

After them, Anthony's parents come in and report that they’ve spent some time with the speech therapist. Clint writes down a reminder to give Dr. Hank McCoy a call.

They take a short break around 11:30 and then Clint continues while Katie runs off to school. Thor shows up instead of Frigga and Odin, who have gone on a business trip to Sweden, so they have a fun fifteen minutes. After Thor, it’s Jemma and Leo’s adopted mother, Mrs. May-Sitwell. She had asked for a joint meeting with Steve and Clint, so just a few seconds before she enters, Steve sneaks into Clint’s room. She demands to know if it’s not possible to put the twins in a single class, seeing as Leo really isn’t settling with Steve.

"I'm not faulting you, Mr. Rogers. It's been a really difficult year for the twins. It's not your fault that Leo isn't settling so well, he's younger and he's never been separated from his sister before." Mrs. May sighs.

"I completely understand," Steve assures her. "We'll look into it, but it's against school policy. If it's approved, it would make the most sense to have Leo move to Mr. Barton's classroom, since Jemma is doing so well there already."

She thanks them and makes her way to the door.

“I still think it’s stupid to split up twins like this,” Steve mutters to Clint.

“Believe me, I’m with you,” Clint replies. The school board’s idea is that the twins learn to be independent. If you asked Clint, all they needed to do was stick them at different tables and the problem was usually solved. But unfortunately, he’s not the school board. Or fortunately. He's heard enough bitching about the board from Tony to last a lifetime.

“Leo hasn’t stopped crying for Jemma, and it’s been two weeks- and Jemma the poor thing, every day, it looks like she’s going to burst into tears herself...” Steve sighs.

Clint slurps from his juice box. If it were up to him, he would put the twins together. Brian and Betsy were fine, but Leo and Jemma are a special case. They’d just moved here from the UK after their parents passed away, and now they were living with their godmother. Jemma, who is incredibly protective of her brother, reminds him of a younger Barney.  

“Let’s talk to Jane and Erik and see what they think,” Steve suggests. “I’ll ask Tony how the board might react if we put them together.”

Clint throws him a sideways look. “Speaking of, how’s the wedding planning going?”

“No, shut up right now.” Steve stands up and runs his hands over his hair again. “I’m leaving that to Pepper, and Pepper only. Tony’s going to want robotic doves or something and I can’t deal with that.”

"Robotic doves sound like a great idea."

"And this is why Bucky is my best man and not you.” Steve stands up. “I have an appointment with the Reed family in a minute, I’ll see you later.”

“I should probably warn you that Reed Richards is worse than his children when it comes to correcting you, have fun!” He grins at Steve, who flips him off before disappearing into his classroom.

Clint takes his feet off his desk and looks at the final parent on his list. Mr. Coulson. _Here’s to hoping he’s a bit more awake this time,_ Clint thinks. He has twenty minutes before the meeting, so he takes the time to clean up the classroom and set out puzzles for Monday morning. Seating arrangements are going to change on Monday, he’s drawn that up on the chalkboard for now. Clint takes a quick look at the clock and realises he still has time. But just in case, he decides to pull open his door, to find Mr. Coulson already sitting on the waiting chairs Clint had put out earlier.

“Mr. Coulson, come on in,” Clint says warmly, offering his hand. The man takes his hand with a smile and walks in. He’s dressed in a suit again, and miraculously, it's dry. Maybe it’s stopped raining? Clint takes another look out the window and inwardly groans. Nope. No such luck. Coulson must be a ninja then. Clint’s going to come home looking like a drowned dog at this rate.

They’re seated and Clint pulls out Skye’s agenda and folder. “First of all, thanks for keeping such good notice of Skye’s schoolwork, it’s great to have parents who take such initiative.” He’d been the only parent to write back notes in the agenda about homework or other things, something that Clint had encouraged other parents to do today.

 “Of course. I hope that doesn’t come as a surprise.” Mr. Coulson glances quickly at the space he’d fallen asleep during orientation.

He’s embarrassed, Clint thinks and smiles at the other man. “Of course not, I’m impressed.” He opens up the folder and pulls out some of the class work Skye’s been doing over the last two weeks. “All right, let’s see, Skye is doing well in class academically; she enjoys numbers and loves computer class on Fridays, and especially when I read to the class.”

“But?”

Of course nothing gets past this man, who’s staring at him blandly with those bottle blue eyes. “Well, she’s very timid.”

“Isn’t she making friends? She talks to me about Jemma?”

“Oh yes she is, she gets along well with Jemma and the other children at her table, but she’s very quiet. Of course, there's nothing wrong with that. I would like her to be a bit more independent, so we’ll be switching around table assignments soon.” Clint explains. “Skye never asks for what she wants, she waits until someone asks her. S’ okay,” Clint winces at his Iowa accent creeping in. “She’s sweet.  It's just important that she develop independence.”

“Is there anything I can do at home to help her?”

“I’d suggest sending her to extracurricular classes. Help her find hobbies and friends who share them.”

“She has cello lessons, but they’re one on one.” Mr. Coulson replies, hand resting on his chin.

Clint pulls out a booklet from underneath the agenda. “This is the activity list for children of Skye’s age at the Aja Fraction Rec Centre, it’s only five minutes from here,” he says, handing over the booklet.

“Yes, I take Skye swimming there, thank you.” He takes the booklet.

“I’ve highlighted some things that I think Skye might find interesting,” he adds.

“Thanks again.”

“Also, I would like to mention that Skye’s learning sign language incredibly fast. I'm really impressed.”

“You teach ASL here?” Mr. Coulson asks interestedly, leaning slightly forward.

“Not officially,” Clint admits. “It’s just, one of her classmates is partially hearing impaired, and he speaks and signs, so the kids are picking it up. Skye’s particularly taken to signing. I just thought it should be mentioned.”

“Wow, that’s. That’s amazing.”

“Yes, it is. Children are particularly good at picking up new languages,” Clint says. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Any other questions?”

“No, I think we’ve covered everything important.” Mr. Coulson says.

Clint stands up and Mr. Coulson follows. He grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “I guess that means we can both get going,” Clint says with a smile and leads them to the door, locking it.

“Thanks again, Skye only has good things to say about you and Ms. Bishop. We appreciate it.” Mr. Coulson smiles and offers his hand to Clint. It's warm, the hold firm.

“Of course, have a nice day, Mr. Coulson.”

“You too, Mr. Barton.”

Clint heads towards the bus stop. Natasha has meetings for another two hours and so does Steve, he could wait, but asking them to drive him all the way to Bed Stuy just isn’t fair. It takes him the walk to the bus stop and becoming completely soaked to realize that curious tickling in his ear is his hearing aid falling apart. _Dammit, Clint._ He pulls it out and shoves it in his backpack with a sigh, leaning against the bus stop sign. The bus should be here in a couple of minutes.

It’s not. Instead, a black Volkswagen sedan drives up in its place and the window slides open to reveal Skye’s father. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“Thanks, but I’m soaking wet! I’ll ruin your car!” He shouts above the torrent of rain.

He can’t hear what the other man is saying, not with the rain and the lack of hearing in one ear, so he takes a few steps forward and leans into the window. “Thanks, but really, I’ll just wait for the bus.”

“Like I said, buses are running really late,” Mr. Coulson answers, pointing to the radio.

“But your car...”

“Don’t worry about it, get in.”

Well, it’s this or get home and spend the weekend fighting a cold, or flu. He gets in, straddling his backpack between his legs and shutting the door. “I’m so sorry, I’m totally wet.”

“Seriously, don’t – _something something_ ,” Mr. Coulson repeats. “Where can I _something -_ drop? pop? _\- something_?”

 “Ermm,” Clint rubs the side of his head. “I’m sorry, rain’s shorted out my hearing aid, could you speak a little louder?”

“Sorry!” He repeats. “I said, where can I drop you off, Mr. Barton?” This time he takes a moment to face Clint so Clint can clearly read his lips.

“Umm, the nearest subway would be great,” Clint replies.

“Subways’ going to be either down or disrupted in this rain,” the other man says, still facing Clint. “I swear, I’m not a stalker or anything, can I drop you home?”

It’s tempting, but totally unprofessional, not to mention it’s pretty far. “I don’t live anywhere near here,” Clint answers. “It’ll take you ages.”

“I have time, Skye’s at her aunts and I was just going to go home and catch up on _Dog Cops_. I don’t mind.”

Oh that’s _really_ tempting.

“I would feel better if I could get you home than worry for the next two days, to be honest.” He adds with a half-smile. And Clint loses.

“Well, if you’re sure, that would be awesome.”

“Great, where to?”

“Bed Stuy.”

It’s a relatively quiet ride, mainly because his deaf ear is turned towards Mr. Coulson and he can’t exactly turn to face Clint the whole time while driving. It's a comfortable silence though. Clint initially sneaks a few looks in Mr. Coulson’s direction, taking into account the chiselled jaw and chapped lips. He wonders if his hair is really as soft as it looks, then turns sharply away to look out the window.

It’s not that he’s blind. The man is attractive in that quiet way that has Clint’s toes tingling, but it’s not like it’s an actual possibility. It’s not against school policy, but it is against Clint’s. It's never been an option or an interest before, but he can't imagine doing that to one of his kids. Besides, there’s no way the other man is attracted to him, he’s still mourning his wife, and right the other thing- he’s probably straight as a ruler. Clint’s probably just looking because he hasn’t had a date in months. He sucks at relationships.

Mr. Coulson asks him for further directions and before they know it, they’re parked in front of Clint’s apartment.

“Well, thanks Mr. Coulson,” Clint says, turning to him, “I really appreciate it, can I get you a cup of coffee or something?” The poor man had driven him all the way over. Clint hopes his house is clean.

“Oh no, that’s fine, I should pick up Skye soon anyways. And please call me Phil. The only people who call me Mr. Coulson are my lawyers.”

Clint laughs at that. “Will do, and in that case, Clint’s fine. Get home safe.”

“I will, thanks.” He flashes him a gentle smile, eyes crinkling and drives off.

Clint’s _so_ fucked.

Clint finds Lucky upstairs curled up on the couch, patting him with a damp hand before running up to take a shower. He puts on pyjamas and joins Lucky on the couch.

 _Phil. The name suits him_ , Clint thinks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the lovely readers and commenters!

“Whose idea was it to go to the zoo in the winter?” Clint looks up to find Kate at the door, sipping on her gigantic hazelnut latte.  It is eight thirty on a deceivingly bright morning and Clint kind of hates this brat for being able to stay inside the school while he's stuck helping Steve carry stuff into the school bus. His ears are going to fall off from the cold soon, and then he'll be properly deaf with no place for hearing aids,  _he freaking knows it._

“Technically, it’s fall,” Steve interjects while taking out the brightly coloured vests the students are meant to wear to keep them distinguished.

“Oh, right. Yours.” There _is_ rhyme and reason behind the choice. Going to the zoo in the fall is always better than spring or summer; there are less people around, and it’s easier to keep the kids under control. That doesn't mean Clint has to be happy about it.

“The kids are going to be here in half an hour, are we good to go?” Steve asks with a grin.

“I think so, just somebody grab the first aid kit before we go,” Clint replies.

“I’ll do that. Here are the groups I’ve come up with. Mr. Coulson and Mrs. May are with us, so we can have groups of four,” Kate confirms, walking over to them and handing them lattes. Kate likes to spend money, and she has more than enough of it. She might have decided to do something 'less worthwhile' than run her father's multi-billion dollar business, but she's still her father’s youngest daughter, his favourite. Clint had had a hard time the first few months with accepting her daily lattes, but she continues buying them no matter what, because money’s like paper in her hands, so he doesn’t refuse them anymore. He takes his black coffee and inhales it. Steve takes a small sip of his macchiato.

“I’ve got Mrs. Reed, Bruce, Jane and Thor coming with us, so it’s four kids to an adult except for Mrs. Reed who has three, she’s stuck with me and Bruce.” Bruce is an amazing counsellor, and the kids love him so much they take every word he says as gospel- always a good thing during school field trips.

There’s a gentle knock on the door before Jane walks in. Thor follows her while holding a bleary-eyed Loki in his arms. And damn, is Clint rather happy with that situation. An alert Loki is a Loki who is intensely jealous of his adopted brother. The first time they had had Physical Education, instead of doing jumping jacks, Loki had run head-on into Thor and kicked him in the shins, only to topple backwards and hit his head. A time-out had only made him angrier. Things are slowly getting better, but it’s still a coin toss on Loki’s reaction to Thor. This was basically why Thor was going with Steve today, far, _far_ away from his tiny adopted brother. “We know we’re a little early, but do you need any help?” Jane asks.

“No, we’re just about ready to go. Hi buddy, ready to go see some lions?” Clint stands up and walks towards them.

“I want to see snakes.” Loki replies instead.

“Oh, well. That’s fine too. Snakes are pretty cool.”

Loki is tightly wrapped in a dark green jacket and yellow scarf looking deceptively adorable. Thor transfers Loki to Jane, whom Loki seems to like better than his brother, and helps them carry the crates of packed lunches provided by the school into the bus. Steve grabs the vests and Clint slings his backpack onto his shoulder, filled with essentials- hand sanitizer, camera, zip lock bags, change of clothes, permanent markers, cash, and tickets along with a multitude of other things. He’s about to walk off when Kate pulls at his backpack from behind.

“First Aid, remember?” She says, stuffing it into his backpack.

“Why do I have to carry the heavy stuff?”

“Because Steve is carrying the extra water- all four litres of it.”

“And you’re carrying what, exactly?”

“Oh you can carry this much, stop being a baby.” She brushes him off and walks towards the door.

Steve grins and picks up his own backpack before following her. “You heard the lady, Clint, and do lock up on your way out, thank you.”

Clint sighs.

They make it outside with no complaints, and with some gentle nudging and a lot of yelling and clapping, everyone is set up with vests in the same colour as the adult they’re with for the day. Clint’s vest is blue. Kate had won purple. Rock, paper scissors is a shitty, unfair game that Clint is never _ever_ going to play again.

In the rush, he manages to only quickly say hello to everyone while handing out vests to Phil and Mrs. May- who has become Melinda by now. After having spent hours working together to get Leo transferred to Clint’s class, she has to be Melinda. Not Mel, that has some adverse reactions, but Melinda. Melinda is yellow and Phil is a soft green.

By the time they get in the bus and make sure everyone’s been accounted for, it’s nine thirty. The children are wide awake and happily singing songs with Kate and Melinda. Clint has set himself up with the parents at the front of the bus, while Steve and the others have been relegated to the back of the bus. Though at the moment, Clint is trading telephone numbers with the other parents in case of emergency. He strides up to the front to where Phil is sitting with papers in his hands and squeezes in next to him. Between the two of their sturdy frames, there’s no wiggle room left whatsoever.

“Well, that was an ordeal,” Clint breaks the silence with a grin. “You still glad you volunteered?”

“I’m thinking I’m very glad I’m not a kindergarten teacher.”

“Thanks, _oh,_ thanks.”

“Well, I think you do a great job of it, I don’t think I would have the patience needed,” Phil explains while making a note of something in red on the paper he’s holding.

“What are you working on?” Clint asks.

 “I’m grading papers for my Clinical Criminology module.” Phil answers.

“Wait, are you a professor?”

“Oh no, I’m a distance learning tutor for a few online criminology modules at John Jay. It’s mainly just a lot of marking.”

“Wow. Criminology, huh? How’d you end up teaching Criminology?” Clint thinks of  Skye’s dog tags.

Phil looks away for a moment. “Well, I was in the Marines until Audrey- my wife- passed away,” Clint winces. He hadn’t meant to bring up old or new wounds. “So I had to leave mid-rotation. I’ve been teaching since then.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Clint asks.

“I have enough time for Skye,” Phil replies simply. “That’s what’s important to me.”

 _And what about for yourself?_ Clint wants to ask. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know Phil that well, and he has the bad habit of making a fool out of himself. He’d rather not, this time. Instead, he asks for cell phone numbers and then lets Phil grade in silence.

They make it to the zoo with no complications, Kate and Melinda somehow managing to keep an iron fist on things. Clint's not afraid to admit that he's terrified in the best way possible.  

The students are split into groups of four, with at least two parents sticking together to form larger groups. Since each group must have at least once teacher, Kate and Melinda pair up, leaving Clint with Phil. Steve’s is a group of three with Sue and Bruce, and Jane and Thor make a powerful team together. Clint has Anthony, Kamala, Bobby and Kitty and Phil has Skye, Gwen, Peter and Betsy. After dealing with the group tickets at the counter, they split into their respective groups, promising to meet up at eleven for lunch at the picnic tables near the elephants.

“Alright kids, make sure you have your partner’s hand in yours, can you hold up your hands for us?” They do, and Clint flashes them two thumbs up. Peter tries to imitate, twisting Gwen's hand; she kicks him in retribution and Clint shoots them a warning look, biting back a groan. He'd separated Wade and Peter but it seemed that it wasn't going to be making much of a difference.

The children apologise to each other at Clint prodding and then Clint turns to address the two groups. “Alright, everyone, let's go to see the tigers!” He leads the group, with Phil bringing up the rear until they make it to the Tiger Mountain exhibit. After an impromptu lesson on tigers, the children settle in together and watch the tiger cubs play while their mother snoozes nearby.

“Mr. B, I see the daddy!” Gwen tells him and he crouches down besides her to look where she’s pointing. He’s partially hidden behind a boulder, but she’s right, that’s a tiger, and Clint points it out to the others, lifting them up on his shoulders for a better view one by one as Phil keeps an eye on everyone. He sneaks a look at the other man with Skye on his shoulders, and finds Phil turning quickly away from Clint to focus his eyes on the children.

There’s a near unnoticeable dusting of a crimson blush on his cheeks, and Clint involuntarily feels his own cheeks heating up. He restrains himself from analysing that particular observation, deciding to focus on ushering the children towards Jungle World.

The rest of the morning is easy, or as easy as keeping track of so many children can ever be. But with Phil, it comes naturally. Clint has always had a good eye and Phil has amazing reflexes so they don’t lose anyone, though pulling Peter away from the tarantula displays was a lot more difficult than one could ever imagine. There's some chaos while passing through the exhibit, and neither Clint, nor Phil take a moment to check their watches until they've left the exhibition.

It's when Bobby pulls at his sleeve and whines, "I'm hungry!" that Clint realises it's a quarter to eleven and they're going to be ridiculously late for lunch by the elephant enclosures, a good half hour away.

"Sh....eeep!" Clint hisses and the children turn around in confusion.

"Those are kangaroos, Mr. B," Kamala informs him.

Clint grins at Kamala, "Yes, kiddo, you're right. But we have a bit of a problem, can everyone come around me for a second?" He gestures to Phil to grab Anthony, who's walking towards the kangaroos, dragging Kitty with him. When they're back, he continues, "It's time to go meet everyone else for lunch," he tells everyone. Phil quickly checks the time on his wrist and winces. "We're a little bit late, but make sure you have your partner's hands, and we can walk over in no time."

Around eleven thirty, they make their way to the elephants and find the other parents and students ready at the benches. He can see Thor and Steve carrying the crates over from the school bus around the corner and busies himself with getting the children seated. He hands out wet wipes for everyone to wipe their hands with, taking an extra moment to make sure Wade doesn’t eat it. It was just the once and his parents hadn't even looked that surprised when Clint had told them, but he's not taking that risk again, no way.

Lunch is a quiet affair, the children far too exhausted to do anything but gobble down their sandwiches. That is, until Loki runs over and kicks Leo for some reason Clint can’t fathom, as he was seated at another table with Phil and his kids, and in no way deserving. In the resulting commotion between Kate admonishing Loki and Melinda comforting Leo, Jemma takes the opportunity to escape the bench and sets off at a run towards the elephants, whose trunks are wandering towards the curious child. Clint takes off at a run the moment he notices, but by the time he gets there, one of the three elephants has the laughing girl in her trunk, lifting her gently off the ground.

He stops a few feet away from the elephant and takes a few tentative steps forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees a crowd forming around them. From the looks of it, the elephant is only curious, so he takes that as a good sign and moves forward, slowly stretching his arms out towards Jemma, keeping eye contact with the larger animal the whole time. She moves her trunk in his direction, and lets go just as Clint grabs Jemma. He balances her on his hip and moves forward to thank the elephant, patting her on the tip of her trunk before turning back. Melinda is right in front of the crowd, and runs forward to take her daughter out of his hands.

“Nothing to see here folks,” Clint tells the crowd, who begin to disperse slowly.

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again! Do you hear me?” Melinda scolds her daughter, while crouched in front of her, having let her daughter’s feet touch the ground again.

Jemma nods, focusing her attention to her mother’s shoes. They get themselves seated again and after a moment of silence, Leo raises his hand and asks, “Did you have elephants in the circus too?”

The parents look towards him in barely concealed surprise. Steve smiles into his juice box, and Clint forces the automatic frown away. The children are always easier to talk to these things about. For them, the circus is an adventure and fun. The adults are harder to face; they know what it really means. Clint turns to Leo with a smile, refusing to apologize for his past and replies, “Just the one, her name was Annabelle.”

“And did you do tricks with her too?” Wade asks, attention shifting to Clint.

“Remember to raise your hand please. And no I didn’t. Annabelle just liked catching hoops on her trunk,” he replies. He takes a moment to look around and realises that it’s not just his children listening to him in absolute silence. It’s quite usual for them to do so. Stories of Clint in the circus are their favourite kinds of stories. But no, this time, everyone in their group from the school is looking at him raptly, clearly in need of an explanation.

Clint acquiesces, a pit forming in his stomach. He’s never had problems with parents about his past, no one’s ever looked down on his for it, but it never escapes him that he teachers at an Upper East Side school and certain things are to be expected of a kindergarten teacher there. He pointedly turns his attention to the children rather than the parents.  “I think Mr. Roger’s class needs an explanation. Before I was a kindergarten teacher, I was in the circus.”

The children ooh and aah. Valeria raises her hand and waits until Clint gives her permission to speak. “I thought Franklin made that up. Were you really an archer in the circus? On a bull and everything?

“Yes and no. I was on a horse, not a bull. Yes...” It takes him a second to read the name tag on her jacket, “Cassie?”

“Did you have other animals?”

“Oh yes,” Clint replies. “We had a tiger and some bears.” He refuses to think about the how he’d been asleep beside Suzie the tiger when she’d died in her sleep. Old man Carson had never allowed anyone to mistreat his animals, but a circus was still a circus. And Suzie had been pretty old anyway.

* * *

The children are relatively quiet in their pairs as they take the zoo shuttle.  The other groups had taken the shuttle in the morning. The two zoo guides are in front of them so Phil and Clint end up in the back.

 “So,” Phil says, turning to face Clint. “The circus.”

Clint nods uneasily, not trusting his voice. This is ridiculous. He fought hard to get his GED and make it through college. He doesn’t know why it’s now of all times that he feels unworthy.

“Sounds like fun,” Phil says with a surprising smile and the knot in his stomach begins to loosen. “You’ve led quite the interesting life, Clint.”

Clint smiles back at him, thankful that the other man has decided not to press. Not that Clint owes him an explanation or anything, but Clint just knows that one of these days, some parent is going to ask those hard questions. His juvie records are sealed and Barney’s long dead, but it doesn’t mean Clint doesn’t feel like a cheat even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law.

He should just keep his mouth shut and never tell his kids about the circus. He just has a hard time keeping comments in when he sees something related to the circus, is all.

“I dunno, I’m no big shot criminology teacher or anything,” Clint retorts.

“Nothing compared to doing archery on a bull-“

“It was a horse, not a bull, just a lazy old horse you had to tickle to make him buck,” Clint shoots back. It wasn’t as cool as it sounds. The outfit was embarrassing as fuck, for instance.

“Do you still shoot?” Phil asks, just as they arrive at the final stop. 

“I teach at the rec centre in the afternoons.”

"He's under-selling himself; Clint won first place in juniors at the Olympics when he was in college." They look up to find Steve grinning at them and holding two bottles of water.

"The Olympics?"

Clint shrugs. "He- yeah. Had to put myself through teacher's college you know? And it was the only thing I was any good at back then."

"That's incredible!"

"Thanks," Clint says, running his hand through his hair, embarrassed for some reason can't fathom. "Those days are way behind me now, I just teach."

“At Fraction Aja? I’ve never seen you around,” Phil replies.

“Well, drop by the range, I’ll show you what’s what,” Clint blurts out without thinking. Oops. No way Phil wants to spend what little free time he has with his kid’s kindergarten teacher. The flight instinct is about to go into overdrive when Phil smiles at him.

“That sounds amazing, thank you. I’d love to.”

* * *

It’s one in the afternoon and everyone’s in the bus and on their way back to the school. Most of the children are fast asleep. Skye is cradled in Phil’s arms. Melinda has her twins around her. Miles, who’d fallen on his way back to the bus, sported a Spider-man Band-Aid on his forehead, and was snoring slightly on Steve’s chest. Suddenly, there’s a weight on Clint's shoulder and he turns to see Phil there, resting on him. He moves his shoulder until Phil’s a bit more comfortable, makes sure Skye won't tumble out of his arms, and then focuses on the road ahead, steadfastly ignoring the feather soft touch of Phil's wispy hair tickling his neck.

By the time they make it to the school, the only other ones awake are Thor and Jane, who are in the middle of a conversation about Einstein-Rosen bridges or something. Before entering education, the pair had met at university, both being physics majors. Clint tends to get lost after the first few words so he tunes them out. Clint doesn’t sleep, he’s never been able to in large groups without someone watching his back. They make it back to school by two thirty, an entire half hour before school is dismissed, and find most parents already waiting for their children in front of the school. He gently shakes Phil who startles awake, hands wrapping even more around Skye in that minute moment of panic before tilting his head to smile up at Clint. Clint turns away and helps the children out to their parents.

Soon, it’s just the teachers and Melinda and Phil as well as their respective children. Sue and Valeria needed to leave early for family reasons. They settle the sleeping children in the reading corner of Clint’s classroom and take the time to quickly organise the equipment. Clint’s putting the first-aid kit away while Kate sets up papers for Monday morning. Jane and Thor have collapsed on the ground next to the children. Steve and Phil are returning the crates to the kitchens when someone knocks and enters Clint’s classroom.

He’s bald with wiry glasses and a military stance. “Hi, I’m Jasper Sitwell, we haven't met before, I'm Leo and Jemma's father. I’m looking for my wife?”

Right. The elusive husband who works for some super secret organisation Melinda never talks about. “Mr. Sitwell, come in,” Clint wipes his hands and offers one to the other man. “Mrs. May is in the bathroom, she’ll be right back. The twins are asleep. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Jemma can’t stop talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Mr. Sitwell replies with a small smile.

“Jasper?” Both Clint and Mr. Sitwell turn around to find Phil and Steve walking through the door, Phil looking at the other man in shock.

“Phil! You son of a-”He pauses as he sees his wife leaning against the doorframe, “gun. You son of a gun. How are you, man? How’s Audrey? How many years has it been?” Jane and Thor stand up, listening curiously.

“Somewhere around five or six, I think. I’m alright.”

“You off rotation as well? I gotta meet Audrey, haven’t seen her in ages, I didn’t even know you were in New York!”

“Jasper, uh. Audrey passed away. This January.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. Mel, come over here.” Melinda rolls her eyes and walks towards him. “This is Major Phil Coulson, had my back in my first tour, way back in oh-two.”

“I just spent the whole day babysitting children with him, Jasper. I know his name.” Melinda tells him, sending her husband an amused half smile.

Sitwell turns towards the teachers, now all gathered in a group around Clint in interest. “Right, did the field trip go well?”

“Everyone’s home with all their limbs, so I’m going to go with yes,” Clint smirks.

“Oh, I like you, Mr. Barton,”

“Clint’s fine, it’s what Melinda calls me anyway,” Clint replies.

“Then I’m Jasper.”

Jane and Thor get up to introduce themselves and the thundering sound of Thor voice wakes up the twins and Skye, who come running to their parents. They get picked up and fall right back asleep on their shoulders.

“So are you still with the army, Jasper?” Jane asks as they pick up their backpacks, ready to leave.

“Oh no, I’m with SHIELD, like Mel,” Jasper says, as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

"Nick got to you too?" Phil asks and Jasper barks out a laugh.

“Okay, I don’t know about you people, but I could do with a meal, and drinks.” Steve interjects as they walk out of the classroom, facing the throng of children leaving class at three for a change. “What say we get home and get some rest and then meet around seven?” 

“Works for me,” Jane says.

“A marvellous idea, Steven, we have all earned a meal and mead.”

“I can’t, I got a cello thing.” Kate says.

“Also, you’re like nine.” Clint retorts. “Are you even allowed to drink?”

“Hush,” Kate tells him flippantly and turns to the group. “Have a great weekend everyone,” and strides away ahead of the group.

“I can watch the twins for a few hours, you go,” Jasper tells his wife, who nods.

“Great. Phil? Clint?”

Clint really really really doesn't want to. Going out is so exhausting, he wishes he could just steal Steve and Natasha and cuddle up with them on his couch. Unfortunately, he's terrible at making up excuse. Which is why he says the worst thing possible.

“I’ll come if Natasha comes.” Clint tells them and Steve whips out his phone. Clint instantly regrets mentioning Natasha. If Steve is coming then so are Tony, Sam and Bucky, and if Bucky is coming then Steve will do anything to make Natasha come as well. And if Steve is asking, Natasha will say yes and now Clint knows he can't get out of this. He looks at Phil for an answer, hoping he’ll say yes. Clint hates socialising, but he gets the feeling it would be easier with Phil.

“Sorry everyone, you go on without me,” Phil says, pointing to the dreaming child cuddled against his chest. “I’ll never find anyone to watch her on time.”

Each protest is met with a perfectly reasonable excuse and they have no choice but to let Phil go home. He trades cell numbers with Jasper and they part ways.

* * *

Clint makes it home and it’s four pm, which would give him two hours to get ready and head out if he bothers. He decides not to; maybe Nat won't come, and maybe she won't drag him with her.

And maybe Clint has the bad habit of sticking his head in the sand and hoping it means he's safe.

He spends an hour taking Lucky out for a walk and then snuggling with him before he gets a text from Nat.

_Be there in 5._

Fuck. Now he has to get up. If Steve's convinced Natasha, Clint can't let her go alone. They've come a long way from trusting no one but each other and running away at the slightest sign of trouble, but he'd never make her go to one of these things without him. It's not that he doesn't enjoy outings with his friends, but they drain him so much. He just doesn't see why it always turns into a boisterous affair with twenty people and far too much alcohol.

He makes it to the bathroom mirror and groans. Ideally, he’d like to get in bed with Lucky and sleep until Saturday afternoon. But when he hears the telltale sound of Natasha unlocking his front door and barging into his house, he admits he might as well forget the idea that he has any sort of control over his life. Clint can hear her high heels being set with a click onto the parquet floor and the creaking of stairs as she takes them one by one. Lucky looks up from the bed for a half second before flopping back down to sleep. He’s going to get fat, Clint just knows it.

She walks into his bathroom in a half-sleeved, red mini dress and black stockings. Her auburn hair is for once not straightened to its’ very last inch, and it frames her face in gentle curls. Natasha looks beautiful.

But then, she always does.

“Shut up,” she orders before he even gets a word out and bullies him into the shower. “You’re being lazy and antisocial and leaving me alone with that idiotic friend of Steve's. Now move it, buster.”

Ten minutes later, he walks out of the shower, steam escaping through the half-closed door to find skinny jeans and baby blue button up laid out for him along with his leather jacket. “Since when do you get to pick my clothes?”

“Since I saw your circus outfit, dummy.” Touché. “Stop arguing with me, and put these on.” She tells him, leaning against the stairwell. There’s no modesty between them, not after living in the same studio apartment for six years while going through university and teachers college together. He drops his towel and grabs underwear and socks out of one of his already pulled out drawers, pulling them on.

“What’d you do to your shoulder?” She demands, coming closer to check out the bruise.

“’s stupid. Thing with the bow and it turned and-” he tries to explain but must fail from the look on Natasha’s face. He should have changed before she came over. Natasha always gets this pinched look on her face when Clint is hurt, and he hates it because nothing he says ever makes it go away.

“Just be more careful, okay?”

“Okay.” He echoes. She doesn't smile. Instead she plops down on his bed and begins to go through his night table. In an attempt to distract her, he asks, "So what's up with you and Bucky?"

Success. She scowls and glares at the book in her hand.

"Nat?"

"We slept together." Oh that explained a lot of things. Like how many times Bucky had called Steve during the field trip, or Natasha's grumpy mood the last few days.

"Let me guess. Two days ago?"

Natasha looks up at him. "Yeah. Except... I just wanted to let off some steam, and-"

"And you chose Bucky? Bucky who's been head over heels in love with you for the better part of the last few years?" Clint asks. She scowls at him again. "Hey. No judgement zone here. I just remember you telling me you couldn't sleep with him because you weren't sure you could love him."

"I was taught that love is for children." Her face is blank and it makes Clint's blood boil. He's the only one Natasha has ever told the story of Russia and the Red Room brothel to, and he had had nightmares for weeks. In the end, they were all a bit broken. But she isn't unsalvageable, not in Clint's eyes. Especially considering the way she looked at Bucky when she thought no one was watching. She must read his thoughts because she puts up her hands. "Let's not have this argument again. I'm not in love with him. He invited us and I went and then you didn't and you know I can be a selfish bitch when I don't have you."

Clint closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have-"

"Sorry. Never mind. This isn't your fault. We need to learn to work our issues out on our own every once in a while. I made a mistake." She sighs. "I just need to talk to James and work things out."

"Well, I'm here with the booze if the fallout gets worse."

"At least Steve's not mad at me."

"Well, that man is a saint," Clint jokes, "you could be a KGB spy and he'd still like you."

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Okay let’s go, I need vodka like a white tiger needs a new conservation initiative.”

“What?”

“Shut up, let’s go.”

* * *

Carol Danvers is an ex air force still very badass motherfucker who once had the ridiculous idea of setting up a pub called  _Hala_ where they serve spacey drinks on  _Star Trek_ like tables with lava lamps on every bar and table. There’s even a big jar with a blue head in it that Clint once got slapped for calling  _The Face of Boe_ ,  _"he’s the Supreme Intelligence, you utter moron"._ It should be creepy as fuck but what it ends up being is ridiculous fun. Plus, Carol has a soft spot for Steve (he’s ex army, she’s ex air force, and Clint needs to know how in the world he's friends with so many military types). They even get free drinks sometimes. The bartender Noh-varr is a dick but the waitress slash astronomy grad student Izzy makes up for it by being an absolute sweetheart.

Natasha and Clint are the first to get to their usual booth, and have the pleasure of meeting Tony Stark without his much better half. He struts into the booth beside them, settling onto Natasha’s side. “Legolas and Tauriel, what’s new in middle earth?”

Clint grins at the other man, “Oh you know how it is, slaying dragons, kidnapping hobbits-”

“Same old, same old, then?” Tony interrupts.

“Don’t interrupt, Tony.” The trio look up to find Steve towering over them in a dark blue pullover with a star in the centre of his chest, Sam to his side. He squeezes in beside Tony, stealing a kiss from his fiancé before offering a fist to Natasha who bumps it with a smirk. “I knew you could do it,” he tells her.

“Oh funny, I’m not that reclusive you know?” Clint grumbles, pointedly ignoring the incredulous looks everyone is giving him. He's not. He just prefers his sofa to the outside world. And that is obviously NOT the definition of the word reclusive, right?

“You sure? Because last time I saw you, your hair was still green around the edges.” Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

“We promised not to ever bring that up again,” Reminder to self, do not let the class play with food dye, ever again.

“Yes, please. The number of parents who showed up at my door asking for explanations or wanting their kids transferred to Steve’s class? No. My brain doesn’t need to remember that in any manner of form, please and thank you,” It’s Jane, shrugging out of her jacket and passing it to Thor before sitting down beside Clint. She leans forward to grace him with a kiss on his cheek. 

“Okay fine, it’s been redacted for forever and ever. Is this the whole crowd? Where's your brother from another mother?” Tony asks.

“Buck's uh- Buck's not gonna make it, something came up at work. And no, Melinda’s coming,” Steve tells him.

“Melinda who? Is this Clint’s bratty but sexy new intern?”

“She’s a student teacher and I've known her since she was a kid and you could be her dad and _eww_ that is so gross.” Clint shoots back.

“Wait, is your teacher in training actually joining us today?” Tony repeats. “Because I have a shit ton of stories I could be telling her about you, Merida.”

“No, dumbass, that’s Kate. Melinda’s one of the parents.” The familiar vibration in his pocket has him pulling out his cell phone. “And nope, never mind, she’s been called in to work. It’s just us.”

“Oh good, cause I definitely want to talk about hot dad Phil Coulson,” Jane leans forward on the table and fixes him with a sly smile.

He’s saved for the moment by Izzy who brings them a round. They haven’t had to order anything here for years. She turns out only to be a temporary salvation because the moment she leaves, Natasha turns towards him.

“Who’s hot dad Phil Coulson?” Natasha asks after taking a sip of her vodka martini.

“He's the parent of one of my half-day kids.” Clint says nonchalantly.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that innocent look, Clint Barton, I saw you making cow eyes at him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking.” Jane remarks, sending Steve chortling into his Guinness.

"Cow eyes? Damn this must be serious," Sam says with a toothy smile and Clint flips him off half heartedly. It's hard to hate Steve's friend from the VA office, especially when he's the most charming mother fucker that Clint has ever met, and Clint's known Tony Stark for five years. Clint takes a long drink of his own beer before turning back to Jane.

“No I _was not_. And being vice-principal and all, don’t you have to tell me that it’s forbidden or something?” Clint asks Jane, ignoring Natasha for the moment even though it’s going to come back and bite him rather painfully in the ass.

“Forbidden? What is this, Romeo and Juliet? Please don't let it be. Good kindergarten teachers are hard to come by. And no, it's not _forbidden,_ ” She tells him. “Though I’d prefer you didn’t jump him until Skye isn’t your student anymore. Besides-“

“He’s super hot,” Steve quips, holding out a camera phone photo of Clint and Phil at the lunch table laughing.

Clint sighs. There’s no stopping it now.

“Hot damn. He is hot. Not the same level as me, but still. I’d hit that,” Tony comments, then turns to Steve. “ _Can_ we hit that?” Steve just laughs and smacks him upside the head.

"Hot damn, indeed." Sam leans toward the photograph. "If you decide you really don't want to hit that, can I have some of that, brother?"

Clint rolls his eyes, "Yeah yeah, go ahead, have your fun. When Riley kicks your ass for cheating, just keep my name out of it."

"It's a deal, cut the check!" The collective groans at Sam. "What? It's a running joke! A good one, people!"

“And old. We need to get you a money jar for every time you say that," Natasha tells him. "Is he the one always wearing a nice suit in the morning while dropping off his daughter? Who gives her his dog tags? He looks sweet."

Great. Now Natasha's involved. This is never going to go away now.

“Indeed, sweet he is! Clinton, you truly must make the best of this wonderful opportunity!”

"Thor's right. Why not? Give it a go, he sounds almost as perfect as me," Tony says.

“Except for the part where he's straight. And a recent widower. Now drop it already,” Clint snaps at the millionaire.

The others stare at him speechless. “Sorry. Just. Let it go, please?” Phil’s not ever going to be interested in him, and even if he were, Clint would never do that to Skye. He knows how his relationships go. They fall in bed together, Clint accidentally moves in and then a few weeks later some crockery gets thrown around and Clint ends up back in Bed Stuy. Phil doesn’t need that, and Skye most definitely doesn’t.

Some of his thoughts must be clear on his face because Thor not so subtly says, “So, what are your thoughts on the new episode of Supernatural?”

The stares are shifted to Thor, and the group dissolves into laughter. Food arrives, and the rest of the evening goes as usual. That is to say, mostly fun and every once in a while filled with conversations about “culture” that goes totally over his head. Feeling stupid comes with being friends with people who are a lot more educated than he is. It’s why he prefers futzing around in his apartment with Natasha and Steve.

Tony and Steve leave first, citing the distance back to Manhattan as their excuse. The remaining group of five leave the bar too late for public transport and Jane and Thor hail a cab.

“Are you sure you can walk home from here? Natasha, it’s far and rather chilly,” Thor says. Natasha smiles and pats his bicep.

“I’m staying with Clint.” She assures him. That’s only three blocks from here in comparison to Natasha’s apartment in Astoria. 

“Alright then, we will see you two on Monday then," Jane waves.

“Bright and early!” Clint salutes as the pair enter the cab, then waves goodbye as it drives off.

Natasha hooks elbows with him and they begin slowly walking home. The city is bright and loud and smells like garbage, but Clint breathes it in and looks up, smiling at the night sky. This is what Clint loves the most. Brooklyn and walking with Natasha. They don’t need words.

They make it home to find Lucky asleep in his bed and change into t-shirts and sweatpants before crawling in with him in between them. Lucky doesn’t move a muscle. For a while it’s quiet and Clint can feel himself slipping away when Natasha says, “You really like this guy, huh?”

"And you really like Bucky. Are we done with obvious statements now?"

Natasha sighs. “I know you know this, but I’m going to say it again. Whenever you feel like talking about it, I’m here.”

He knows, he just doesn't think he’ll ever have to. Liking Phil is like liking a celebrity. It’s fun and a little achy, but the chances of anything actually bearing fruit are very, very small. He turns to his side and throws an arm over Lucky, fingers ghosting over Natasha’s cold cheeks, and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas CallipygianGoldfish and Max72 as always, and especially to shighola for all the NY-Picking!

Clint notices the container only because he had to come back to school after archery for a teacher's meeting. He's run back into his classroom to change into his outdoor shoes. It's Friday, which means that one of the kids has taken Merlin the guinea pig home for the weekend. This also meant taking the cage, extra bedding, and feed home. Seeing as the container of food is still on his desk, it's clear that Phil and Skye, who are responsible for Merlin this weekend, had forgotten it. He changes shoes and grabs the container, locking up before heading towards the bus stop. Flipping open the case of his phone, he easily finds Phil's number and hits call.

Phil picks up after a few rings, "Coulson."        

"Hey, it's Clint."

"Oh! Hi Clint, hold on a second," Phil answers before saying, "Nick I'm busy, can we have this discussion at another point in time please?" There's a pause, and then, "No that's not- okay hold on." He turns his attention back to Clint, "Sorry about that, Clint."

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

"No it's fine. Talk to me."

 "You have Merlin over the weekend, and well, you forgot the feed."

"Oh heeeeercules. Hercules." Clint can barely hold back his laughter, and clearly, neither can this Nick dude. "What? I've got a kid around. Yes, Nick. No, I know she's not here right now. It's a habit."

"Hercules though? I tend to say H-E double hockey sticks," Clint teases, "anyway, if you want, I can drop it off. If you've got guests, I can just stick in the mail box or something."

"No, he's just leaving, yes, Nick you are." Phil sighs. "Are you sure, Clint? It's out of your way, and already so late. Are you still at the school?" Phil asks him.

"Yeah, teacher's meeting. Don't worry, I have time, long as you don't mind-"

"No of course not, I'm so sorry," Phil says.

"Don't worry about it, seriously, what's your address?" Clint asks. He's too lazy to get a pen but he's always been great with memory.

"331 East 84th Street. Top floor, I'll buzz you in. From the school, take the M15 bus to 86th Street and walk over." 

"Perfect, see you soon." Clint hangs up and shoves the phone into his pocket. A glance at his watch tells him it's nearly seven, and his stomach grumbles in impatience. He hasn't had anything since the strawberry yoghurt and half a banana (Natasha stole the other half _the witch_ ) he'd had for lunch.

The next bus is a half hour off, so Clint decides to walk rather than stand and freeze while waiting for the bus. He's wearing the usual set up for casual Fridays; jeans, his _Jurassic Park/Firefly_ mash up t-shirt, and a grey hoodie he'd thrown on as he'd ran out of the house. He sets out on a brisk walk towards the next stop.

Fall leaves are dancing around him to the rhythm of the wind, periodically pausing to slap against him before joining the cacophony of deep reds and burnt oranges. The wind is biting and unforgiving, but Clint loves it anyway. He loves how fast it can flee, how quickly it's gone and the quiet afterwards before the next invisible wave hits him. He loves autumn.  

There's a black sedan parked in front of the building with the logo of an eagle spreading it's wings, caged within a circle, the words "Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division" wrapping around the eagle. It sounds familiar, but he doesn't know from where so Clint stores it in the back of his mind, reminding himself to ask Natasha when he gets home.

He walks up the stairs to the pathway leading to the front door and immediately regrets his choice of clothing for the day. There's a doorman waiting at the door. An actual doorman in a suit and hat and all that. A damn nice hat, too.

That's when it really hits him that Phil is one of those guys. He's kind and open and not at all condescending, but he's a rich guy who owns a condo on the Upper East Side with a doorman who has a really nice hat. He probably vacations in France and owns a villa in Westchester. Phil's old money and Clint's the kindergarten teacher who used to be a good for nothing carnie.

He shakes his head as he goes up the elevator to the penthouse. It doesn't matter anyways. It's not like Clint wants to go out with him or anything. Phil's just Skye's dad and Clint's just the teacher bringing the guinea pigs feed. That's all. Who cares how out of place Clint looks shivering in his water colour paint covered jeans and purple converses?

The elevator dings open and Clint finds himself facing a terrifying looking black man with an eye patch and a leather coat.

"Well? You planning to live in the elevator or you gon' let me use it, son?" the man asks him, looking not the least bit amused.

"Right? Sorry, sir." Sir? What the fuck? Where did that come from? Clint groans inwardly, then shuffles out of the elevator.

"You don't call me sir, not unless you work for me. Got that? Phil, that means you." The man tells Phil, who Clint finally sees, is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest.

"No it does not, Nick."

The elevator begins to close and Nick sticks foot out to keep it open. "Just because you can afford to hide away here with the ankle biter doesn't mean you should. SHIELD needs you."

" _Good bye,_ Nick," Phil says, before turning to Clint. "Clint, come on in."

"This ain't over 'til I say it is."

"Ignore him," Phil tells him before ushering Clint into the foyer, shutting the door behind them. It's not what Clint was expecting. Instead of expensive furniture and art, there are two framed posters on the wall across from them, minimalistic Superman and Batman posters. Under the posters, there's a white drawer chest with photos of Phil, Skye and a woman who Clint thinks must be his late wife. "Sorry about him. Nick wants me to go work for him, and he's rather insistent."

"With...SHIELD?"Now it clicks. "That's where Jasper works, right?" Clint asks as he pulls out the feed from his backpack. There's something else about the name SHIELD that hits him but he can't place it.

"That's right. One of many alphabet organisations, let's say, and -thanks- I'm happy with my current arrangement where I can work from home." Phil answers as he takes the container from Clint. "Sorry about this, I swear I'm usually not this forgetful."

"Don't worry about it, it happens. Worse things have happened." He swings the backpack back onto his shoulder, getting ready to head back out again.

"Hold on, it's getting late, let me at least get you dinner," Phil offers.

"No no, thank you, I should get home-"

"Oh," Phil pauses. "Sorry. You probably have plans, it's Friday night-"

Clint laughs. "Nah, just a date with my DVR and the pizza guy. It's just a pain of a commute when you're tired."

Phil brightens. "In that case, forget ordering pizza, mine is homemade and ready in another ten minutes. Let me at least pay you back for coming all the way."

Clint shouldn't. He's just going to get his hopes up and there's another seven months of school left, this is such a bad idea. But _oh_ , he wants to. Well, it's not like he's going to do anything, not with a little kid running around. It's this or being alone, seeing as Lucky's probably hanging out with Simone and the three rugrats anyway. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"Yes, Skye is with her godparents until tomorrow morning, and I..." Phil looks away. "I'd rather not eat alone." There's an ache in Clint's chest. It occurs to him, take away the furniture and the big apartment, they're both the same. They're both lonely. He makes up his mind. Skye's not here, but he just has to be careful and keep his heart away from his short sleeves. Phil looks so lonely and hopeful, he just can't say no.

"Okay, dinner sounds nice." Clint drops his backpack to the ground and kicks off his shoes onto the hardwood floor. They make their way through the hallway (walls covered in framed photographs and Skye's crafts) and make it to the living room. It's not what he expected, again. The windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling, the balcony doors are open, letting in cool air. There's a large grand piano in one corner, a cello case beside it, comfortable couch on the other, and so many books. In another corner, there's a smaller bookshelf filled with picture books, and a rug and pillows nearby. Toys are carefully stored within two colourful baskets beside the bookshelf. The sun is long set by now, and the windows proudly display the brilliance of Manhattan. He doesn't realise he's made his way to the windows until he hears Phil speak.

"It's quite the view right?"

"It's beautiful." Clint says softly. _God_ , he loves New York with a fire that will never fade. He may have been born in the wheat fields of Iowa, but New York is what saved him and made his dreams of a future into the present reality. He wonders suddenly, sentiment tinged with bitterness, when he'll stop feeling like an outsider in a city that took in the orphan boy and turned him into an Olympic winner, and more importantly, someone who was trusted with the future generation.  

The quiet moment is interrupted by the beeping of the oven. Clint settles himself at the breakfast bar as Phil slices the pizza and gets things ready. "Wait, is that deep dish?"

"I'm originally from Chicago," Phil answers as he passes Clint a plate and a beer. "Come on, the couch is more comfortable," he adds and they walk back to the living room, settling on the couch in front of the television. "What about you? You probably saw the world with the circus, and I do believe you owe me a story," he says, eyes twinkling.

Clint quickly forks a mouthful of pizza into his mouth, not sure how to avoid this conversation. And nearly orgasms. "Fuck."

"Not good?"

"Very good. Very, _very_ good." Fuck that's amazing. Also, hopefully distracting.

Phil smiles, satisfied. Then says, "If it's something you'd rather not talk about, I understand completely. It's not like you owe me anything. _Dog Cops_ reruns start in ten minutes. Do you like _Dog Cops_?"

"Who doesn't?" Clint replies, relieved. Phil grabs the remote control and sets it up before putting his bare feet up on the coffee table. After a few minutes of commercials, Clint follows. They've both seen this episode, the finale where Colonel Whiskers saves the baby, so most of the episode is spent making comments about one thing or the other.

By the third commercial break, they've both had three slices of pizza each and downed most of their beers. The plates are soaking in the sink, but Clint finds himself not ready to leave just yet, they settle back on the couch silently, half a foot of space between them. Clint takes a takes a deep breath and turns to Phil. He tells himself that he really doesn't need to care what some parent thinks - even if that parent is Phil Coulson - and says, "I grew up in this tiny town in Iowa called Waverly."

Phil nods, eyes focusing on the television. He's incredibly calm, and it makes it easier for the words to just come out.

"My mom... she was the sweetest lady in the world. She loved fireflies and the piano... and she loved my dad." Clint turns his gaze towards the grand piano. Their old piano had been an old out of tune upright, wood chipping at the corners, but he still loves that one better than this dark beauty. "My dad was a drunk. He was mean and angry and he liked smashing things." Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Phil. He's still looking at the television, but his bare feet move a little towards Clint's. "Especially me and my brother Barney."

"Then one day," Clint remembers how cold it was. Not the sort of cold in New York. No, it was the dead sort of chill that settled in your bones as the entire world around him pretended to be dead. Middle of the winter, heating gone out because no one had paid the damn bills. Barney had crowded himself around Clint in a vain attempt to keep them both warm, but it was February and two skinny boys never had that much heat to share between them anyways. Not even with the threadbare blanket covering them. He remembers he was still awake, late in the evening, shivering in bed when the police had rung their doorbell and told them what happened. "He crashed the car. They died quickly, that's what the police officer told Barney."

Phil takes a short intake of breath. Clint doesn't know why this comes out so easily or so fast. Only Natasha and Steve and Tony know this about him. But Phil. Phil is so easy to talk to and the words just come out. Clint is so bad with words but Phil pulls the right ones out without even trying.

"I was five. They took us to the orphanage," Clint says, looking back at the television. "But we were always hungry and nobody wanted two boys so when I was seven, and Barney ten, the carnival came to town and old man Carson said they'd feed us, long as we worked hard, so we ran away." The carnival had been a lot of awful things, but there had always been enough food for the kids, long as you worked hard. And Clint and Barney had worked hard as hell. Old man Carson never let any of his people starve. Clint had loved that old man. Clint doesn't know how the words come out so clearly, but they flow as he tells Phil about the ten years he'd spent there. About Carson and the old tiger and the lazy monkeys. Then, quietly, about the Swordsman and finding out that he was stealing money from Carson. About having his legs broken. And being seventeen and left in an alley in Philadelphia by his own brother, where Natasha had found him, not being able to hear anything from his left ear. About following Natasha to New York, getting their GED together and getting an archery scholarship and going to the Olympics, just to make enough money to put himself and Natasha through teacher's college.

"I hated my school as a kid. No one cared about the kids or what they were being taught, and sometimes I think if I'd cared about it a bit more, I would never have left the orphanage, I would have stayed until I'd gotten through high school at least. But no one ever told me how important school was so I never cared. I didn't want that to happen to even more kids, which is why I wanted to teach kindergarten." He concludes. "So here I am now."

The episode of _Dog Cops_ is long over. Phil hasn't said anything so far. Carefully, and ever so slowly, Phil moves his feet until they touch Clint's, and it's everything he's ever needed. Clint sighs and settles, digging his feet until they're snug under Phil's. _Community_ starts playing and they don't say anything for a long time.

* * *

Clint awakens to delicious warmth radiating around him. He breathes in vanilla and nutmeg mixed with oregano and cheese. He could stay here forever. Then he realises that his hands aren't around a pillow, but defined biceps.

Phil.

He's resting on Phil's chest. He sits up abruptly and scoots away on the couch. The commotion wakes Phil who looks up blearily at him. "Clint?"

"I gotta go," Clint stands up quickly and smoothes his hoodie down in vain. "I should go."

Phil stands up slowly and turns to look at the clock on the wall. "Clint, it's nearly midnight, the subway will take forever, why don't you stay the night?"

"No!" Clint bites his inner cheek. "Sorry, I mean. I can't. I have something early in the morning and... I need to go."

"Okay, well, let me drive you home then."

"No no that's okay." He needs Natasha. He needs Natasha right now. "Don't worry about it, I just. I have to go."

He takes to the living room. "I- hold on! Clint!" But Clint's already putting his shoes on and grabbing his backpack. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's just late. I gotta go." Clint repeats, not looking at Phil.

"Let me drive you. You'll be waiting at least 20 minutes for a 4/5 rain, then you still have to transfer to the J/Z. Who knows when you'll get home?"

"It's fine." He opens the door and steps out, then turns back to Phil. He looks confused. "Thanks for dinner."

"'Course. Clint, please just send me a text when you're home safe okay?"

"Okay, sure." He nods and presses the elevator down button. It dings open and he turns back to Phil one final time. "Good night."

"Good night."

The elevator doors slide shut and he slides down to the floor. This is bad. He can't. No he won't do this to himself. It's a fruitless endeavour.

The elevator stops on the ground floor. He's trying to get up, but he can't, his legs are wobbly. How can it be that-

"Sir? Are you alright?" It's the security guard. Clint takes a deep breath and forces himself up.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm good." He walks out and heads towards the school, cold a jarring surprise to his skin still warm from sleep and... Phil. Fuck. He pulls out his phone, the battery is low but enough to make a call. Natasha picks up after the third ring.

"What's the matter?" She asks him, voice gritty. Someone else is speaking to her but he can't focus on anything but his best friend.

"Nat," he gasps out. "Nat I need-"

"What's the matter? Where are you?"

"School."

"What the- don't move. I'm coming. James, no. We'll talk later, he's my best friend and he needs me right now. Oh for fuck's sake let go of my-" The phone line beeps.

He sits on the curb in front of the drop off area and waits. The phone dies a few minutes later.

He can't do this. Phil's rich and owns a penthouse and he's Skye's dad. Clint's an orphan and a castaway. Except Phil knows that now, and he hadn't pushed him away. But it doesn't matter. Phil's straight, a widower and most importantly, a parent.

Phil has the kindest face Clint's ever seen.

He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't even realise Natasha pulling up in her car until she honks at him. "Dummy. Why are you outside in the cold when you have keys to the school?"

Clint shrugs and gets in the car. She doesn't say anything, just drives him home. She helps drag him upstairs and dumps him in the shower. When he comes back out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Natasha is sprawled on the bed with Lucky, who's actually in the apartment for once. He sees his phone charging near the nightstand and is reminded that he's supposed to send Phil a text.

Instead, he crawls into bed behind Natasha and wraps himself around her. She doesn't ask, but he tells her what happened in a hushed voice.

They're quiet for a long time, and then Natasha says, "Oh dummy. Of course it's scary. You really like this guy, and you just bared all your secrets to him."

Clint swallows and turns away from Natasha. Lucky crawls over to settle on his chest. Not that he can feel the pressure, there's already this huge weight suffocating him. Phil is just being kind. He's mourning his wife. The last thing he needs is some kindergarten teacher mooning over him.

That's when he realises that Natasha's shaking, fine tremors running through her body and he feels like the worst best friend ever. "Nat, are you okay?"

"No. It's. James and I..." she begins, and then changes her mind. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later. Everything will be alright."

Natasha is a liar but she wouldn't lie to him so he listens to her heart and tries to not worry.

Natasha falls asleep soon after.

* * *

It's two in the morning and Clint is wide awake. Lucky, sick of Clint moving around, had ditched him to climb on top of Natasha. The phone lights up for the second time.

He sighs and relents, grabbing it off the night table.

From: Phil Coulson, 00:12 _. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Apologies. Get home safe._

From: Phil Coulson, 02:15. _How long can it take to get to Bed Stuy from here? Hope you're safe._

Fuck.

To: Phil Coulson, 02:16. _Sorry, phone died. I got home an hour ago._

From: Phil Coulson, 02:18. _Don't worry about it. Get some sleep. You have to get up early right?_

To: Phil Coulson, 02:20. _You too. Good night._

From: Phil Coulson, 02:25. _Sleep tight._

Clint shoves the phone back onto the table.

He's so well and truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks is far too long of a time period to have not hung out with your best friend so Friday night, Clint picks up Kung Pao Chicken and a gigantic bucket of spring rolls and Natasha promises to show up with vodka and Alenka chocolates. The last few weeks have been ridiculously busy and Clint's feet ache from running around all over the place. He's never looked more forward to doing nothing for an entire weekend.

The apartment is as cold as it always is (the landlord is a dick who refuses to fix the heating), but Clint doesn't want to steal the upstairs space heater from poor Lucky. And that is how he ends up curled up in his couch with the comforter he'd dragged down the stairs, feet tucked into the corner of the sofa to keep warm. He keeps his eyes closed, because if he has to stare at the food on the coffee table for another minute while waiting for Natasha, he might eat it all.

The hearing aids are somewhere upstairs, so Clint doesn't notice her until she slams the door shut behind her, the vibrations travelling from the floor up his body and he opens his eyes slowly. Natasha greets him with a hand to her forehead, saluting upwards. He signs hello back lazily, the movements groggy. Natasha's lips quirk up in a small, sweet smile. She chucks her jacket into the hallway closet on top of his, kicks off her shoes and throws her purse and the take out bag on top of the coffee table, before curling up beside Clint on the couch. Her cold nose is tickling his exposed collar bone, her nimble fingers slip under his shirt to steal warmth.

Too many years of friendship have passed for Clint to tell her to 'pull away because _damn it Natasha_ it's fucking freezing'. And let's face it; she's never going to listen. And if he were to be completely honest, he has to admit he likes the familiarity of it.   

They eat the food in comfortable silence and fall back into the sofa together. Natasha wiggles out of her skinny jeans and throws them - _somewhere -_ before sprawling on top of Clint and pulling the covers over their heads.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Natasha wakes him up by bruising his kidney to pull off her bra from under her shirt. They fall back asleep and wake up to a bright Saturday morning and to Lucky barking for breakfast.

* * *

Clint can't help thinking of years past, back when they were still in college and spending Saturdays with their noses buried in books. This weekend, neither of them have any plans except to catch up and make cottage cheese pancakes.

Well, Natasha's making pancakes. Clint's been relegated to finding a second mug, because Natasha refuses to have someone drinking out of the coffee pot. They're digging into the second batch of pancakes with cherry varenye (Natasha's very own recipe) when Natasha puts her fork down.

 _"I told James about everything,"_ She signs.

Oh. And Clint Barton is reminded that he is a terrible, terrible friend. Three weeks since she picked him up at the school in the middle of the night, and he hadn't even asked a single time what was going on. _"Nat, I'm sorry. I totally forgot to ask you about that."_

She laughs, her eyes bright and shining. Clint can hear just echoes of it. _"It's okay, dummy. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone about it. Not even you."_ She squeezes his wrist and leans forward to kiss him on the forehead. When she pulls back, she's shaking a bit, and Clint thinks, _okay, to hell with it_ , it's eight in the morning, but they're going to need that bottle of vodka.  

Clint gets his aids despite Natasha's protests because he desperately wants to hear her voice. They end up on the couch, Natasha's head in his lap. "I told him everything, I wanted him to see that this was a bad idea, and it wouldn't work. I was going to leave because I figured he would change his mind. Then you called and I left and he keeps calling me."

Clint stays silent as she explains, rubbing her belly in slow, soothing circles that he knows from experience calms her down. His boxers become wet with moisture escaping her eyes and Clint lets it be. 

"He's a good man," she whispers. "He deserves better."

"He deserves the best," Clint agrees. Spending six years in the army before being discharged after losing an arm makes him a superhero in Clint's books. And that's not considering the fact that Bucky is one of the kindest people on the planet. "Natasha, he deserves nothing less than the best- and that's what you are."

She elbows him. Hard. "Stop being so sappy."

She elbows him again when he says, "I love you, too, Tasha."

It's worth it.

* * *

It's ten past eight on Tuesday morning and the children are working on Thanksgiving themed puzzles, but Clint's not too worried about his class. After all, he's left them in Kate's more than capable hands. It's the child currently missing from his classroom that Clint is building up anxiety for. He makes his way to the office to find Darcy, who's precariously balancing file folders, a mug of coffee and a cream cheese bagel on her way to her desk.

"Have you heard anything from the Coulsons, by the way? Skye hasn't showed up for class yet." He asks once she's settled. Darcy looks up at him mid bagel bite.

"Coahsob? Mapin."

"One: gross, and two: what?"

"Om," she swallows. "One. You have no right to judge, I've seen you eat three slices of pizza at once. And two. Nothing. I got nothing, man. Hold on, let me call the house." Darcy types something into the computer before punching in the number into the telephone at her desk.

Clint waits until she begins speaking to steal a bite of bagel - "Oww-Darcy!" he shouts as a pointy heel digs into his shin. She raises a single eyebrow in his direction before speaking into the phone.

"Yes, of course. No it's alright; just let us know before school starts next time. No it's okay. Seriously.  We were just worried. Oh I meant Mr. Barton. Yes. Yep. I'll tell him. Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving. Thanks. Bye!" She hangs up the phone and turns to Clint. "Skye's got a stomach bug or something. Hot dad is just a bit overwhelmed. He says he's really sorry."

"Hot dad?"

"Please, like there's a single person in this school who doesn't know."

"Fucking hell."

"Language please," Jane tells him as she walks past.

***

"And then Governor Bradford declared it a day of prayer and thanksgiving, they invited the Natives and ate-"

"They gobbled turkey!" Wade interrupts Kate, nearly toppling over in his excitement.

"Wade." Kate warns.

"Right. Sorry!" He raises his hands. Both of them.

"Yes Wade?"

"They gobbled turkey!" He repeats.

Kate smiles at him and nods. The class is settled on the ground in front of the world map as Clint is writing up final reports (tucked safely in their agendas) before the Thanksgiving break. Kate has just finished Thanksgiving activities with the children, ranging from tracing the Mayflower's journey from Plymouth to crafting their 'Thankful' tree where the children wrote (with help) what they were thankful for this year. Clint's leaf says he's thankful for his lovely class, but fitting "I'm thankful for the lack of a Richards offspring in his classroom" would not have been an easy task. He agrees that Thanksgiving should be replaced with a National Day of Atonement to acknowledge the genocide of the Native Americans- but it's hard to make other four year old children understand genocide.

Clint has finished distributing their report cards to the tables when the children return to their seats and begin packing up, 'Thankful' leaves in hand. He claps his hands. "Class, thank you for being such lovely students for Ms. B. Please pack your agendas away. When you're done, you can line up by the door."

They're well practiced by now, with little reminder, the children push their chairs neatly into the desks before lining up by the door.  They're a full 30 seconds earlier than the bell so Clint and Kate take the time to trade high-fives with the lot of them before letting them out to pull their coats and outdoor shoes on. The Pryde family are waiting right outside the door to pick up Merlin, and Kate leads them in along with Kitty as the rest of the children rush out. Clint follows the teacher's aides. It's only for five days, but Clint's going to miss these critters, so he's going to spend as much time with them as possible.

Most of the parents are already waiting for their children and Clint takes a moment to chat with them. He's just waved the Braddock family good bye when he's run over by a shock of white hair and a bright green- something.

"MR. B! Hi MR.B!" Scratch that- bright green t-shirt. "Why are you on the ground, Mr. B?"

"Oh for the love of-Pietro you cannot run around like a maniac. Apologise to Mr. Barton right now."

And that would be the Xavier-Lehnsherr brood. Clint looks up and finds Erik Lehnsherr grudgingly offering him a hand. Clint takes it with a smile and is pulled back onto his feet. "Thank you," he says, finally noticing the little girl curled into Charles' lap.

Clint had had Pietro in his earlier classes two years ago, and Steve had had Wanda. He's never worked in any other school before, but he wonders if it's normal that they have so many twins at Kirby Lee.

"Apologize to Mr. Barton, young man," Lehnsherr tells his son who turns light-fast towards Clint. It's singularly Lehnsherr's hand at Pietro's wrist that stops the boy from crashing into Clint again. Wanda lets out a giggle from her seat atop her father on the wheelchair.

"Vati!" 1

"Darling let go of him, Pietro knows better now, right dear?" Charles says. "Remember, take it slow."

The murderous expression on Lehnsherr's face softens, and he lets go of Pietro. Clint would make some sort of comment about being whipped, seeing as Clint and Charles are -sort of- friends (since Charles grew up with Tony and they'd crossed paths in college sometimes), but Erik Lehnsherr is terrifying as fuck.  Also, Clint's 90% sure that Charles is a telepath. And Clint doesn't care what kind of weird looks Natasha or Steve give him whenever he mentions that, no one will ever convince him otherwise. Pietro comes forward, slowly this time, and holds out his hand. "Hi Mr. Barton. Sorry I ran you over."

"That's okay, Quicksilver," Clint replies, pulling from memory the beloved nickname. Pietro brightens at the name even as Lehnsherr glowers. Oh well. At least Charles is still smiling. "How are you?"

"Good!" Pietro replies -"Good, thank you," - Charles murmurs. And then, "Good thank you!""And how's grade two?"

"Fun! I like Mrs. Attilan even if Todd says her hair is weird."

"Pietro!"

Clint bites his lip in an attempt to keep the laughter at bay, a fight that Charles has already lost.

"Her hair _is_ weird though, Vati." Wanda voices quietly. "I think it moves on its own. And it's sooooooooooo red."

"Maybe she washes it with _blood_ every day!" Pietro suggests with a gleam in his eye and Wanda squeals, clutching her father tie.

"Pietro, Wanda, that's more than enough, say your good byes'. It's time for us to go home," Charles tells him in a level voice as Erik continues glowering. Sometimes, it seems to Clint that Charles has three children rather than two. Erik's glare somehow increases even more in strength.

Maybe it's Erik who's telepathic, Clint ponders, and oh- he's already got goose bumps. Urgh.

"Mr. B? Hellooooo?" Clint slips back into reality to find Pietro jumping in front of him.

"Sorry about that," Clint apologizes. Then asks, "So are you heading to Westchester for Thanksgiving?" Because they're just like Tony and probably Phil, born with a silver spoon in their mouth and all that. Well, at least Charles was.

"Oh yes," Charles answers with a smile. "Raven is flying in with Hank and the kids to spend a week with us.

"What about you? What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Pietro asks.

"Oh, I don't know yet, so many options! Maybe I'll spend it with Rosemarie the Elephant," Clint tells him with a wink. Pietro winks back and grins. The adults are not so easily dealt away with. Charles shares a look with Erik, who sighs in what must be acceptance.

"Just in case Rosemarie decides she'd rather spend it with other elephants, we have more than enough space in Westchester," Charles offers tentatively.

Clint nods in gratitude, "Thanks, I'll let you know."

The Lehnsherr-Xavier quartet leave and Clint begins to walk back to the school.

He has Charles' number. He's even known Charles well enough to send him a shit ton of personal messages (and, if he's remembering correctly, a bunch of drunk sexts during his undergrad days), so it isn't awkward to call or text the man. But not here. Not this time. He never does. They always ask him to Thanksgiving and he always says no. Clint's always thought of Thanksgiving as something for families and close friends to celebrate together, and he won't intrude. He's still at the edge of everything, still half invisible, and that's his choice. It's what he wants. And it's why he's okay with spending it alone. And it's why he says no to Steve and Tony who fly to Miami to spend it with Pepper and Happy. It's also why he usually spends it with Natasha, watching the parade and eating microwave Turkey meals. But Natasha just got her shit together with Bucky and Bucky always spends it with Steve and Tony so they're not here either. It's not that Natasha isn't terrifying or didn't almost convince him to go, it's more that he signed up for the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving morning and even she wouldn't make him cancel something like that. Besides, Thanksgiving is about sharing what one has and being thankful for it; Clint doesn't see the point in going when he has nothing to offer anyone.

He shakes his head, hoping to free himself of the darker thoughts taking up his brain space. "Clint!" he hears from behind him and turns around, suddenly coming face to with a flushed Phil Coulson. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he huffs out, hand coming up to brace against his belly.

"No it's okay. Just spaced out a bit," Clint replies. It's a surprise; he really hadn't been expecting the other man considering that Skye hadn't even come to school today. What if something's wrong? Maybe it wasn't just a stomach bug. "Everything alright, Phil?"

"Oh yes, of course. I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to cause any worry." Phil pauses. "Skye's fine. She's suffering from a stomach bug but she's doing better now than she was last night."

"Good to hear," Clint tells him with a smile.

"Do you have any homework or anything I should have for the long weekend?" Phil inquires.

"No, it was kind of a free for all today, focusing on Thanksgiving," Clint explains.

"Oh, I see. Never mind then."

"Thanks for coming in." Clint says.

"Sorry again."

There is a poignant pause. They haven't talked since the pizza night fiasco, apart from a couple of texts. But it's the first time seeing each other and Clint feels incredibly awkward.

"I won't keep you," Phil finally says. "I'm sure you have Thanksgiving plans and what not."

"If you consider a date with my TiVo a plan, then yes, I do." Clint replies then suddenly feels even more awkward.  Phil's probably got family plans and Clint sounds like he's asking for pity. He doesn't know why he feels so shy and gawky, but he can't help it around this man. Phil makes him feel all so much more like himself while leading him to behave like a complete madman. It's beyond Clint's understanding.

"Ah. Same as me then."

 _Hold_ the fun train back up a fucking minute what now? "You can't be serious. I figured you guys would have a grand old party or something." Clint blurts out.

Phil smiles at him but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Rachel -my sister- and her husband are visiting his family in Toronto for the weekend, and my mom's gone with them. We were supposed to go until Skye got sick, and I don't want to risk driving her when she's like that." Phil explains.

"Understandable," Clint agrees.

"Hence the 20 episodes of Castle waiting for me back home." Phil replies. "And what about you? What's your excuse?"

"Oh I'm behind on that too." Clint says, pointedly ignoring the latter question.

"Then come on over, we can keep each other company. Skye likes to sneak in and watch it but she's too ill. I've got a neighbour keeping an eye on her; she's been sleeping it off."

"You don't need to entertain me when Skye is sick, it's-"

"I haven't got anything but a frozen chicken in the fridge and vegetables, believe me, you're not signing up for much. Some adult conversation would be appreciated though." And Phil looks so hopeful, so lonely and sad that Clint has to say yes to coming over on Thursday in the afternoon.

* * *

By the time he gets home though, Clint decides that he's made a colossal mistake. Phil might be lonely but he's still a parent and Clint's going to slip up and make a massive mess of things. The wise voice in his head (who sounds like Jane) is telling him to get out of this, _now,_ except he has no idea how. So he does the only thing he can. He calls Natasha, who's on her way to the airport.

"Well, you can't ditch him now. That would be mean. Wear the purple shirt with the leather jacket and the dark blue jeans."

"But-"

"I said the dark blue jeans. You called me for advice-"

"On how to get-"

"Hot dad out of his slacks? Yes," she ignores his cry of protest, "Shut up. Do as I say."

"But Nat-"

"He looks like he's packing-"

"Natasha!"

She lets out an uncustomary giggle, then pauses. "Okay let's get serious. Clint, you're a good man." That stops him speechless. He's nothing compares to actual heroes like Steve and Bucky, and even Tony who invents things that change the world. He's just- Clint. Just Clint. Natasha lets out a laugh. "Now you shut up. Clint seriously? Do you know how many chances you've had to turn bad? From the orphanage to the circus and then Barney and even with me? But you always chose to do good. Why don't you trust your instincts with him?"

"Because he's straight. And he's lonely and needs a friend. Not-" _Not me_. He doesn't need to say. "Skye needs stability and he's still grieving and I-"

 _I want too much._ He doesn't dare say it out loud.

"Clint Barton," Natasha starts again after the pause. "You know what I think about your hang ups. But even then, I know you care too much about your students to let anything happen that could hurt them in the end."

"You think so?" He doesn't trust himself. But he trusts Natasha with his life.

"I know so."

He ends up wearing the jeans in the end.

* * *

Thanksgiving Thursday is transforming into a chilly, though sunny late afternoon when he arrives at the Coulsons' apartment. He can smell the food the moment the elevator doors open. Phil meets him at the door with a wide smile and lets him in. "I thought you said I wasn't signing up for much." Clint says, handing him the bottle of wine. He has no idea what it is, only that Tony's assistant had brought it over yesterday and told him to give it to Phil. He trusts Tony with alcohol, if nothing else.

Skye is snuggled up with a teddy bear on the couch, watching cartoons while wrapped up in a plush white blanket. He comes over to say hello and she holds out her arms so he gives her a quick hug. She's still quite warm. Clint heads into the kitchen to help out Phil. "Did you want to watch the game?" Phil asks him as he pulls out the chicken from the oven.

"Game?" Clint has no idea what Thanksgiving traditions exist.

"I have the NFL package- all the games, and a bunch of the college ones too, if you're interested."

"Oh. I don't mind, Skye's cartoons are great for now, I think," Clint replies with a smile in Skye's direction.

Phil laughs. It's a beautiful sound, clear, like running water down a mountain stream. Clint pushes the treacherous thought out of his head, instead taking the bowl of soup held out in his direction. "Could you call Skye please? I'd rather she have her dinner now so I can put her back to bed by six."

"She's still running a bit of a fever, eh?"

"Yeah, I took her to the doctor yesterday, she's got medication, but she needs to eat first." Phil sighs. "Just, don't freak out if she starts a tantrum, she's been refusing to eat since yesterday.

Clint nods. "Let me worry about her for the next few minutes, okay? It might come better from me since I'm her teacher, not her parent." He grabs a spoon from the kitchen drawer and sets it up on the table.

Clint finds Skye fast asleep on the couch and hates himself for having to wake her up. "Skye?" He calls softly. "Hey little Skye, it's time for dinner? Your dad made some potato and ginger soup for you."

"Sleepy. Not hungry," she mumbles, snuggling further into the couch.

"How about just a little bit? It looks really yummy."

"Nu uh."

"Do you remember what we learned in health class about nutrition?" She nods, eyes still shut. "Can you tell me?"

"Our bodies need..." she lets the sentence wander for a moment."Our bodies need energy to work."

"That's right. And where does the energy come from?"

"From food, Mr. B."

"Exactly, I'll get you a gold star in your notebook for remembering that," he tells her. She opens a single eye and looks at him curiously. "Now how about we get some of that energy back with some yummy soup? Then you can go back to sleep after."

"Can I stay on the couch?" Skye asks.

"For dinner?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you go and ask your dad?" Clint suggests, and she holds out her arms, willing him to pick her up. He leans forward and wraps an arm around her, holding the soup away from Skye just in case.

She's curled up into his chest by the time they reach the kitchen. "Daddy?" Skye mumbles into his collarbone. Far too quiet it would seem, as Phil hasn't looked up from where he's fluffing mashed potatoes. There's a slight flush from being in the kitchen for so long. "Daddy," Skye repeats louder and Phil turns around to face them and Clint loses his breath. He looks so fetching. There's a smear of gravy across his cheek and some flour on his nose. Not to mention the state of his shirt. But it's so achingly domestic that there's an unwelcome stinging in Clint's eyes.

Phil walks towards them, setting down the whisk before leaning in close to plant a kiss on his daughter's head. His soft hair brushes against Clint's cheek and warmth radiates from him. Clint bites his lip so he doesn't lean forward a steal a kiss for himself. "What's the matter, monkey?"

"Daddy can I eat on the sofa with Mr. B?"

Phil looks up at Clint who just shrugs. "Just for today. Because it's Thanksgiving, okay? And only if you promise to drink the whole bowl of soup I gave you."

"Promise," she mumbles before turning back into Clint's chest. There's a moment's silence where Phil just stares at the two of them with incredibly intensity in his eyes. Then he brings out yet another shy, secret smile that Clint has never seen before and never wants to again for fear of his heart combusting.

"And what do we say?" Clint says, finally looking away from those stormy eyes.

"Thank you, daddy," Skye says into his chest.

"You're very welcome, sweetheart," Phil says.

A moment later, Clint finds himself settled on the couch, feeding careful spoons of soup to Skye while watching the cookie monster and Tom Hiddleston talk about delayed gratification. She's forgone the teddy and taken to clutching his thigh.

Clint knows what's happening. He's known it from the moment he picked her up. He's supposed to be her teacher, keep bias from her, but this little girl in his arms is so sweet, so pure. And she's Phil's and Clint knows he loves her. He loves all his kids, he can't help it. But Skye. Skye Clint wants to feed dinner to and hug and hold and kiss goodnight.

_Fuck._

As soon as she finishes her soup, Phil comes to collect her to give medication and put to bed. She tugs on his shirt hem and hugs him goodnight, pressing a sticky kiss onto his cheek before leaving.

"Could I use your bathroom, please?" Clint asks, proud of the fact that his voice remains steady throughout the question. Phil nods, pointing towards the bathroom and Clint flees. He takes the moment to lock the door before curling up in the tub.

Fuck.

He was supposed to stay professional. He was supposed to be a friend to Phil and a teacher to Skye but _oh God, he cares too much._ It isn't the first panic attack he's ever had so he takes to counting his breaths as usual and soon enough, his heart begins to beat steadily again. He staggers out of the bathtub and splashes some water on his face before leaving the bathroom. Perfect timing too it would seem, as Phil comes back out of Skye's room.

"She's out like a light." Phil tells him from the hallway. "Dinner's ready. Want to set up the TiVo while I plate some of this stuff here?"

"Sure," Clint replies softly and heads into the living room after watching Phil disappear into the kitchen again.

Soon enough, they find themselves full of food and good red wine. Castle won't load for some reason so Phil says, _fuck it let's watch Serenity_ , and they spend a good half hour discussing the philosophy of Alliance vs. Browncoats.

When Wash dies, Phil excuses himself to the kitchen. Clint finds him moments later clutching the kitchen island and breathing in short breaths. Clint doesn't say anything, doesn't trust himself to say the right thing, just takes the moment to rub soothing circles onto Phil's shoulders and back.

"I met Audrey when I was ten," Phil says, turning around to face Clint. "I loved her then. Her parents couldn't bear it; they were very strict and Chinese. But it didn't matter. I loved her and she loved me."

Clint swallows, and stays silent, letting Phil get the words out. "We got married when we were nineteen. Her parents never accepted it. Audrey." Phil shudders and brings his hands up to his chest. "Audrey and I went to college together, then I went off to Iraq. She was pregnant when I left and Skye was born a week after I came home on leave. Our little miracle, she was so tiny and beautiful."

"Then Skye's three and I'm stationed everywhere but home until I get the call. Breaking and entering. Some kid trying to steal jewellery, panicked when he realized there was someone still home and pushed her-" he chokes, "pushed her down the stairs."

"Broke her neck. Then just like that, she's gone. Audrey's gone and I get Skye and it's been a year and I still can't seem to get that she's actually gone. I loved her so much, Clint. I never - we had all these plans for if something were to happen to me. I never thought I would have to raise Skye alone. I'm going to fail her." Phil looks up at him with bright steel eyes.

"Oh Phil," he whispers. "I think Audrey would have wanted you and Skye to be happy, and you couldn't fail her as long as you both stay happy and safe."

Phil opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. He leans forward and pulls Clint into a hug, not those half shoulder hugs men always give each other, but a tight bone crushing one, as if Phil won't be able to stand without Clint holding him up. When he finally pulls away, he looks less vulnerable, more embarrassed.

"I've got the guest room ready, it's late, stay the night," Phil tells him.

"I... I don't have any other clothes or-"

"You can borrow something of mine," Phil says and leads him to his own bedroom. He begins rooting through drawers to find a soft t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Then he leads Clint into the guest room. Phil leaves him to change and comes back knocking on the door. When Clint opens the door, Phil hands him towels, then freezes for a moment, taking him in.

"Does it look weird?" Clint asks.

"No," Phil replies, crimson spreading down his neck. "My shirts are too tight, aren't they?"

"That's okay. It's comfortable." Clint tells him.

"Well, good night, Clint."

"Good night, and thank you for letting me stay," Clint says, door half shut between them.

"And thank you. Sorry for the uh-" Phil focuses his eyes on a point behind Clint.

"Don't worry about it. That's what friends are for." Because that is what they are. They're friends. He can't deny that. They just need to stay as only friends.

* * *

Clint dreams of flour and licking gravy off of cheeks. He wakes up hard and angry and ignores it until eight in the morning, at which point he walks to the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror until the erection goes away, resolutely not thinking of blue eyes and soft hair.

* * *

Clint's met with a cup of coffee the moment he enters the kitchen. Phil's fingers are warm when they hand over the coffee but Clint shivers at the contact. "Good morning," Phil whispers before turning back to the stove. "Skye's still asleep, let's keep it that way."

Clint smiles and nods before jugging down half the mug of coffee. That's when he notices the pancakes. "Well if it means more pancakes for me..." he adds. Phil turns back to him and that's when he notices it. A tiny bit of shaving foam on the back of Phil's ear. Clint leans forward to wipe it off, fingers coming up slowly.

Skin touches skin and Clint feels like he's evaporating. Phil shudders, then turns around slowly, hand coming up to cup Clint's face. He's pure instinct now, and Clint wants this so bad he can't push him away. He's just so damn tired of fighting this. Lips and hips meet gently, moving together in a silent dance of grace that Clint wasn't aware he possessed anymore. Then just as swiftly, Phil pulls away, horror clear on his face.

"I'm so-"

"Morning daddy! Morning Mr. Barton!"

Clint freezes.

"Good morning, Skye," Phil says evenly.

"Good morning, Skye," Clint repeats.

"Are you staying for breakfast?" She asks him, head tilting to the side.

"No, I'm sorry. I have to be somewhere. But I'll see you on Monday at school, right?"

"Right!" She grants him a huge smile.

He checks his pockets for keys and wallet, then turns to Phil. Phil looks so raw, like someone's taken to peeling off all his upper layers. Clint swallows. "Well then, I'm going to get going." He turns back to Skye and crouches down to be level with her. "Take care of yourself okay? Get better soon."

"Thanks Mr. B!"

"Bye, Skye, Phil."

"Bye Mr. B."

Clint straightens up and walks towards the front door, pulling his shoes on as fast as he can do. He can't do this. Phil's getting too close, and Clint's not good enough. This is going to blow up in their faces and Phil's started to mean too much too fast for it ever to be safe to let him in. He's just Skye's teacher, and that's the most important thing. He almost makes it out the door before a hand at his wrist stops him.

"Clint,"

He turns around, forcing a smile on his face."It's okay. It's okay." Phil doesn't budge.

"I'm going to be late," Clint lies. "I have to go. Please let go of me."

Phil seems to realize he's still holding on to Clint's hand and gently lets go. "See you around, Clint."

Clint smiles again, eyelids twitching. "See you around."

Clint goes home and goes straight back to bed, pulling the covers over his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to shighola for telling me that no, the Superbowl doesn't happen during Thanksgiving.
> 
> Footnotes.  
> 1 Vati is German for dad.


	6. Chapter 6

"And then what?" Kate asks, shooting a clear bull's-eye into the training wall in his apartment. It's a frigid Friday morning and unlike Kate, Clint isn't capable of braving the cutting blades of the winter winds slamming against his ancient windows. He's braver than Pizza Dog though, who hasn't even dared to leave the inviting warmth of his bed covers. Ideally, Clint would take his cup of coffee up to his bedside table and curl up around his dog, run his fingers through warm fur, and sleep. Pizza Dog never pulls away no matter how frozen Clint's fingers are, which is rather sweet, especially considering the unfortunate (but unsurprising) demise of their space heater. Unfortunately, any hope of that particular daydream coming to fruition was shattered by the shrill ring of the door bell and the discovery of Kate Bishop at his doorstep, rosy-cheeked with glittering snowflakes adorning her hair and a sleek bow in her hand.

"Then nothing. I left." Clint doesn't know why he's telling the kid this, but Natasha isn't available and there's something about her. But sometimes, he looks at Kate and he thinks she's a lot like him; it makes him blurt things out he wouldn't dare say to anyone but Natasha. But he's hit the limit; he doesn't want to talk about Phil and the kiss from yesterday morning, or what it could mean. Clint shoots a perfect Robin Hood shot, and then dodges as Katie-Kate tries to kick him in the shin. Unfortunately, the evasive manoeuvre ends with his hip meeting the hard edge of the kitchen/make-shift range's breakfast bar.

"Stop showing off! You said we were just going to futz around with the bow!" She snaps, then softens. "Did he call you after?"

Clint decides to aim instead, ignoring the probably bluing bruise at his side to rapidly shoot six arrows in succession, forming a 'C' with the arrows. "We _are_ just futzing around, Katie-Kate." He pointedly does NOT stare at the blinking light on his answering machine.

"Alright, fine, don't talk about it. You're the king of running away." Kate says, laying her bow on the breakfast and hopping up onto the barstool.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He asks, turning around to face her. It's not that it's not true. It's just that Clint doesn't know how Kate knows him so well.

 "That's what you did after you played at the Olympics isn't it?" She shoots at him. "You'd won and you'd made your money so you quit the team and you left like that was it. None of us mattered to you anymore."

Clint stares at her, dumbstruck. "That is _not_ what happened."

"Yes it is. I was eleven and in the juniors, we all looked up to you, and then you just abandoned us!"

"Kate, you all knew I was only staying until the Olympics were over," He says.

"You didn't say good bye. We threw you a party and you didn't even show up, just flew back to New York like we were just some part of your life that was done now." She accuses him.

He can't argue with that. It's what he'd done. But back then, he'd wanted to keep on training and shooting professionally. Except Natasha was back home and working her ass off for them and he couldn't have let her continue to teacher's college alone. Besides, professional archery meant throngs of people everywhere when all he'd wanted was some peace of mind. His teammates had been just that. Teammates. Clint hadn't realized he'd meant more to them than that.

"Kate, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you." He tells her, looking her in the eye.

Kate sniffs. "Okay, don't worry. I'm a big girl, we're fine." She wipes her eyes and Clint looks away. "Anyway. Make me coffee, I'm your guest, and I'm freezing in here." Clint sighs and walks over to the wall to pull out the arrows, taking an impromptu break halfway through to double over while coughing.

"I didn't invite you," he grumbles while sticking the arrows back in the quiver. She shoots him an unimpressed look; hastily Clint cleans out the coffee machine and starts a new pot, his back facing Kate. 

"No but seriously, why do you still live here? You make more than enough to money to move out of a place that's so ridiculously inconveniently located from your workplace, and possibly a health hazard in winter. Let's not mention those Russian assholes who tried to grab my ass while I was walking up the stairs."

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid- wait they tried to what now?" He drops the coffee filter he was fiddling with to face Kate, check her over quickly to make sure she was fine.

She rolls her eyes. "Please, like I couldn't handle them. They're probably in emergency; I think I broke a couple of fingers. Seriously though. Give me one good reason why you're still living here. "

Clint lets the coffee filter into the pot and heads into the living room.

One good reason? Because it's his.

It's a mess, and half-taped together and it's old and busted, but it's his. This is the place he lived in through college with Natasha. This is his home and his hiding place. It's old and broken and falling apart, but he's an ex-carnie and a thief, this is what his life is supposed to look like. This is where he fits in. _What else is he supposed to do_ , he thinks as he grabs the hoodie from his sofa and heads back to the kitchen, throw it all away and move like Natasha? Then what? He's happy here where he belongs.

He throws the hoodie in Kate's direction. "This smells," she says, wrinkling her nose.

"Then give it back," he tells her. She rolls her eyes and shrugs into the sweater. He hides his smile as he turns to the coffee pot. It's half full, so he pours a mug for Kate and takes the pot for himself. "I like it here."

"You're going to die of pneumonia here."

Any witty remark Clint may have had is cut off by the bout of coughs that erupt out of him.

* * *

By Saturday morning the lone cough is joined by a fever and the chills. Clint kicks Lucky out of bed; he'd somehow caught the flu from Clint last year even though he'd had his shots 2. And that is a horror he never wanted to relive ever again. The sheer amount of sneezing and whining in the apartment had made Clint so depressed he'd eaten 6 packets of instant noodles.

Lucky hopefully remembered last year's ordeal because after the initial complaints, Lucky had decided he didn't want to have anything to do with him, choosing to keep Simone company while the children are in school. Her apartment is also warmer and smells nicer, so Clint doesn't begrudge him for it. Instead he spends a good hour debating the advantages and disadvantages of going downstairs to get tea versus staying in bed until a hopefully quick and not-agonizing death followed. Trying to get up gives him a rather strong bout of dizziness though, so it would seem that option is no longer viable.

At some point he falls asleep and dreams of Iowa.

* * *

_He's maybe two or three, playing in the backroom of the butcher shop Pops works at. Momma's got a broken leg and she's at the hospital with Pops. Mister Jamie is busy with the customers so Clint's playing alone while Barney's finishing homework. When he's done, he'll play with Clint. He'd promised. He falls asleep waiting and wakes up in Mister Jamie's house._

_Mister Jamie has a wife who wants him to call them Auntie Laney. Barney tells her he won't because she's not really his aunt, so Clint does the same. She smiles anyway and brings out a green shopping bag full of brand new clothes. There are still tags on them. They fit perfectly and Clint and Barney go to bed in their new Batman pyjamas._

_When they wake up in the morning, Pops is screaming at Laney downstairs. Clint starts shaking because when Pops screams, it means either he gets a boo boo, or Barney does. "-Don't need your fucking pit-" is all Clint hears before Barney jumps onto his bed and wraps his long arms around Clint._

_Nobody gets hit that day, but Pops makes them change into their own clothes and throws the Batman pyjamas on the floor before dragging them home. Mommy's still at the hospital, so at night Clint waits until Pops passes out on the couch and then wobbles into Barney's room, who holds onto Clint tightly until he falls into restless slumber._

* * *

It's early in the evening by the time Clint makes it downstairs. He's in pyjamas, an old worn hoodie, and a bright green scarf that might belong to Darcy. The tea kettle just begins to whistle when he hears the main door open. "You still alive in here?" Natasha calls out from the living room.

"Kitchen!" he tries to call back, but what comes out is a scratchy half-whisper.

And there she is, carrying two grocery bags and a plastic bag from the pharmacy. "Urgh," she stops a good two feet away from him. "Go lie down on the sofa; I'll put this stuff away."

He obeys, and Natasha comes to him later with a mug full of what smells like _Theraflu._ "Drink," she orders.

He takes a sip and forces it down. His throat screams in protest. His ears ache.

Natasha hands him her phone, screen already dialling Jane's number. "I'm so sorry," he rasps out from the couch, "but I've definitely got the flu. I'm not making it tomorrow or the day after."

"Don't worry about it," she tells him sounding almost chipper. "It was only the first day after Thanksgiving holidays so it was easy. I didn't have too much work on my part so I took over the class, but Kate knew exactly what she was doing, so I basically just sat there doing paperwork while she taught. You focus on getting better alright?"

"Thanks, Jane," Clint says, suddenly missing his kids.

"Don't worry about it. Take care of yourself, Clint."

"Thanks."

He throws Natasha's phone back to her; she catches it. "How long have you been wearing those?" Natasha asks him, pointing to his ears. Clint shrugs. "Take them out now. We can sign, dummy." He pulls them out slowly, wincing as his ears complain.

 _"I'm making you soup in the kitchen."_ She signs and leaves. Clint closes his eyes and rest, thankful for the relief that comes with silence.

He dozes off and then startles awake at sudden pain in his leg. Looking up, he finds Natasha with her foot on the couch, bowl of soup in hand. He moves his leg out of the way and she sits down, handing over the bowl.

She stares at him, mouth a thin line.

 _"What?"_ He signs.

_"Why are you ignoring Coulson's phone calls?"_

" _How did you, I mean, what are you-"_ Clint knows he's given himself away.

_"He called just a few minutes ago."_

_"Did you-"_

_"No, dummy. He left you a voice mail. The 10th one if I'm not mistaken_." She raised a single elegant eyebrow at him as her hands flew in rapid sign _. "Again. Why are you ignoring Coulson?"_

 _"Um."_ He gulps. Then clears his throat. And then shifts on the sofa. Natasha's still looking at him with that terrifying expression so he doesn't really have much choice here. _"We sort of kissed during Thanksgiving, maybe?"_ Fingers moving particularly slowly.

Anyone else in the world and Clint knows they wouldn't see the near invisible twitch of her eyes. But this is Clint Barton a.k.a. Hawkeye. He sees it and knows it for what it is: worry. She stays silent so Clint knows he needs to explain if he wants to continue keeping his limbs. _"Well, we did Thanksgiving, and then we kissed and then I left and what's S.H.I.E.L.D.?"_

_"Forget about S.H.I.E.L.D. Did he kiss you or did you kiss him?"_

" _He did."_ Clint brings his hands up to his eyes to rub at them before continuing. _"Then_ _he pushed me away."_

_"And then you ran away."_

_"What else was I supposed to do?"_ Listento Phil telling you it was a mistake?No, thank you.

_"What makes you so sure he thinks it's a mistake? Have you listened to any of his voice mails? Or read any of the texts?"_

Texts? He wonders where his cell phone is. Wait, did Natasha listen to them? Natasha kicks at his legs as she stands up. _"You have to do something. He's Skye's parent, you can't just hide in Bed Stuy forever, Clint. He knows where you work; he knows where you live. What're you going to do? Run away?"_

He places his hands down on his lap. _Maybe_ , he thinks. He could get a job in Bed Stuy where the families were like his own and stay here for the rest of his life. Or he could move. He could leave New York, right? _Right?_

The thought makes him dry heave.

No. He couldn't do that. Leaving Skye and Kurt and Anthony... even Loki no matter how many times that kid managed to tie his shoelaces together... it was unthinkable. He couldn't abandon them, he couldn't leave Kate. It would make him the bad guy.

" _Clint Barton,"_ Natasha signs clearly, fingers quickly forming harsh signs. _"You have this complex; you think everyone is out to get you, or worse, that you're going to hurt people."_ He winces at that because it's true, turning his head until he's facing the bow hanging on his wall. "Look at me." She smacks him and says out loud, coming closer to sit beside him and his healthier ear.

"Look. At. Me." She repeats.

He obeys. _"We fought past everything to get where we are. Remember how scared I was that I would hurt James? But I've stopped running and look- we're all right. Don't you think we've both run enough? We're not criminals, we're not delinquents. You're a good guy, Clint. So go be a good guy! And don't call me until you have."_ With that and a kiss to the corner of his mouth, she leaves him. 

Clint takes one final look around his living room before discarding the blanket to get up and move to the kitchen, an itch in his bones he doesn't recognize. The light on the recorder is blinking insistently, but Clint heads upstairs. He takes the stairs two at a time, pulling his shirt off on the way up. The cell phone is cradled in a pile of clothes that Clint questions the cleanliness of. He chucks the shirt in his hand on top of the phone, refusing to acknowledge the bright light of the screen as it beeps insistently at him.  The rest of his clothes follow shortly and soon enough, he's found a momentary escape within the pattering sounds of water hitting the ceramic of the shower.

 _Don't Stop Believing_ starts blaring from his bedroom and Clint cannot help the wince that follows. He pulls the tap until the water pours ever harder, thudding against the doors and walls of the shower, closing his eyes and concentrating on the cacophony until it is all he can hear. He doesn't know how long he's in there, but once the dizziness returns, he turns off the shower and reluctantly opens the shower curtains, letting in the influx of cold air shock his warm skin. Pulling on his bathrobe haphazardly, Clint wobbles towards his bed.

When he wakes up again, it's dark and his left side is warm. Groggily, he turns towards the inviting warm and wraps his arms around it, softly whispering, _"Phil."_

 He's met with Lucky instead, a single fuzzy paw coming to rest on his face. He tenses in bed, mind suddenly clear as cut glass. A quick glance at his alarm clock tells him it's only four am, but Clint needs out. Clint needs away. He pulls himself out of bed, pushing Lucky away. Standing up, it finally hits him that the dizziness has gone. There are running clothes on the floor. He grabs at them. With a clatter, his phone falls out, and Clint picks it up to plug it into the charger. It beeps once again, and despite all his attempts to look, the screen lights up and Clint reads the text. It's from Kate.

_This running away_ _thing? It's everything about you that_ _sucks._

His fingers shake as he plugs in the phone. He pulls off the bathrobe and harshly pulls on sweatpants, a t-shirt, pullover and a hoodie. Forgoing his hearing aid, he grabs gloves and a cap, runs out of the apartment building into the early morning buzz of New York City.

Clint runs. He runs and runs and runs and runs until he can't anymore and his breath is uneven and his legs are shaking. He runs past other runners, past early morning work goers and past dog walkers and teenagers and a mother with her baby carriage. He runs until his knees give away under him and he collapses, knees sliding on the icy sidewalk. He looks up, lungs heaving in jagged breaths, and gazes at the deep, dark sky. It goes on and on and on and the Clint can feel himself fading away, smaller than he's ever felt before.

When Clinton was little and his daddy got mad, he would run away. He'd make himself small and invisible and sometimes he'd be faster, sometimes daddy would catch up and then Barney would be running, yelling and kicking at daddy until daddy in his rage would beat Barney and forget Clinton existed at all for a few moments.

When he got older, he learned to run from the Swordsman, and from Trick Shot. He learned to climb high and blend in. Make it seem as if he'd never even been there, a trick of the light, a shadow in the night. He'd never thought to run when Barney had come after him; and he'd been caught.

Natalia had taken him to the hospital and stayed with him, not even knowing his name. Then they'd run together. Run far and fast until they'd left everything behind. Barney. The circus. Run until they'd outrun their names, until there was nothing left but Clint and Natasha and teacher's college.

Then Natasha had found Bucky and stopped running away. She'd run to him and then she'd stayed. Clint though, he'd never stopped. Never stopped looking behind his back, never stopped sleeping with an emergency bag to run away with under his bed. His biggest mistake had always been letting Barney catch him. So he'd learned to run faster and further than ever before.

But now, Clint looks up and he sees the fog of New York City, and he sees the sunlight peaking through the old buildings, and he doesn't want to leave yet. New York is high and wide and all the things the circus tents had been; in New York, he can hide without running. He's invisible. They'll never find him. They'll never hurt him.

But New York, in all her beauty and elegance, is the queen of loneliness. Natasha has come out of the shadows, and Clint still waits within. He's too afraid to let others in. It's why he wanted to teach children. Children cannot get under his skin and hurt him in ways adults can. And Clint, Clint is 32 but he's still just a kid. Clint loves this city, but he's still hiding under her skirts. It's so tiring though, and sometimes he wishes he had the courage to go out. He wonders what the world is like to people with thicker skin. This is why running is easier, he thinks.

It's not so easy these days. He can't just pack up and leave anymore, as he used to dream about when the days became tougher and tougher in college. No. He has little ones who need him and Natasha who'd follow him even now. He can't. He wants to so bad. But he can't. He's not Barney. He won't hurt them by leaving, and he won't run to hurt the ones he loves. He can't.

There is a soft murmur around him, his healthy ear picking up some of the noises of the city as it groans awake. He stands back up and nearly becomes toppled over by a bicyclist who screams something at him from the ground where she's caged by her bicycle. He points to his ear and pulls the bike off of her. She glares at him, takes her bicycle and races on.

Damn it, he loves New York City. He isn't going to run.

He walks home, careful of the traffic and finds Lucky waiting for him in front of the door. He kneels down to hug him and kiss his hairy forehead, then heads towards the kitchen.

The answering box is blinking bright and blue, and Clint presses play.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The doorman lets him in with a crisp nod. He's still wearing that really nice hat.

Clint's own clothes are horribly mismatched, consisting of his dark running pants and a white t-shirt under a fuzzy purple sweater, a green scarf, his winter jacket and Darcy's orange cut off gloves. His nose is running and he absentmindedly wipes it on his gloves. _Aww, Clint._ He wasn't thinking about clothes after he'd heard the messages. Just Phil. But now he wonders if it wouldn't have been more prudent to have tried a bit harder when picking out his clothes. He steps out of the elevator and rings the bell, shifting his weight from one leg to the other while waiting for Phil to open the door.  It's nine in the morning; Phil should be long up, since Skye had to make it to school half an hour ago. Clint's luck is good for a change, and the door opens to reveal Phil in a button-up and wool slacks, thick rimmed glasses framing eyes that widen in surprise.

_"Clint, it's Phil. Phil Coulson. Could we talk about what happened? Please call me."_

No more running.

_"Clint, it's Phil again. I don't know if you received my last message, but please call me back."_

Clint had had plans. He was going to have a serious talk with Phil. But Phil's wearing glasses and his lips are parted just a little bit. The shirt is slightly transparent and Clint can see the outline of a nipple.

"Clint?" Phil asks, and Clint no longer remembers what his plans were.

He pulls Phil by the neck and only says softly, "I'm sorry I made you wait," before closing his eyes and pressing starving lips against Phil's. Run? How could he have ever fathomed running from this? As if Phil wasn't already completely entangled inside of him; as if Clint would ever be able to let go of this man. . As if the arms that are now holding onto him by the jacket were meant to be anywhere else, as if they could cause him harm. Phil isn't Barney, isn't his daddy or Trick Shot or any of the others he had run from. Phil will keep his heart safe, that much Clint knows.

_"I'm sorry. I apologize. I was just surprised at myself. If you would prefer to go on as if nothing happened, that's okay.  We can move on from this. We're still friends right?"_

He loses the concept of time.

Clint opens his eyes again with a gasp as pain and pleasure merge together into overwhelming sensation at his nipples. He's straddling Phil on the couch now, his shirt pushed up as Phil keeps his mouth occupied with Clint's neck, and his fingers pull and twist his nipples. A tentative graze from Phil's teeth has Clint gasping for precious oxygen, arms coming up to wrap around Phil's shoulders from where they'd been pressed against his stomach.

"Please," he rasps out. "Please," he begs as he grinds his arousal against Phil's. He hates the soft feel of Phil's shirt against his chest; he wants more skin.

_"I don't regret it. I can't make myself regret it. I'm sorry. I know it's too early and a part of me will always love Audrey but I won't feel guilty about wanting you. I won't feel guilty about caring for you as deeply as I have come to. I know you felt the connection between us too. But whatever that means for us from this point onwards, I leave in your hands."_

Phil moves away and pulls off his own shirt, and Clint takes the moment to pull off his sweater and shirt. A second later, Clint surges up to meet Phil's rosy, wet mouth. The sudden skin on skin contact from their chests lining up has Clint moaning into Phil's mouth, and Phil swallows it, arms coming to wrap around Clint once again. Clint rolls his hips against Phil, relishing how secure it feels to be this close.  Phil shivers and grabs him by the hips. "My God, what you do to me," he groans into Clint's mouth.  "Stay still or I'm going to come in my pants like a teenager."

Clint cannot control the jerk of his hips at the mention of that sinfully tempting image. It is as if his body is no longer his to control; it's his soul responding to Phil- to his touch, his voice, his words. Clint can't wait any more, he needs more skin, more to touch, to kiss. Clint can feel Phil's cock through the slacks and jeans and he needs to feel the weight of it in his mouth, taste the bitterness and breathe in the musk. He tries to pull away but Phil pulls him back for a kiss. "No no no no no," Clint rasps. "Please let me, let me see-" he pulls away and kneels in front of the couch, nimble fingers unbuckling the butter soft leather belt and the buttons on the pants. He pulls down the zipper and Phil hisses, the sound invoking a rush of pleasure straight to Clint's cock at the idea that this is Clint's doing. He's the reason Phil's so turned on. He can't help it, he mouths at the briefs, enjoying the combination of warm, soft cotton and the harsh metal of the zipper against his cheek. Phil lets out a sound that can only be described as a whine and lifts his hips up, pulling the clothes down himself as Clint leans back and watches.   

Once they've kicked the clothes away, Phil leans back. Clint comes closer, finds a comfortable position for his knees, and looks. Phil is hard, so hard he's turning purple. He's thick, a blue vein protruding and running the length of its underside. He's not going to manage all of that in his mouth, not for a while, but he's looking forward to trying another time. Then he imagines Phil being inside of him and begins shaking.

Then he can't stop shaking.

In less than a second, Phil pulls him up and cups his face. "What's wrong? Do you want to stop?"

Clint shakes his head mutely and takes Phil's hand and kisses the palm. He opens his mouth, closes it again for want of the right words and instead kisses Phil's wrist, his forearm. "I want you inside of me so bad." He confesses quietly. It's too soon to say that, but he's never been a toe dipper; he dives head in.

Phil shudders, his free hand coming down to squeeze at the base of his cock. "Oh Clint...I wish... I don't even have condoms."

"Not now," Clint quickly answers, his own hands deciding to explore the curves and planes of Phil's chest of their own volition. "Just..."

Phil looks at him, eyes softening. "Yeah. I understand," he says and leans up to kiss him gently. The urgency is still there, but this kiss tastes like a promise. Clint returns it slowly and then pulls away to lick down Phil's chest, enjoying the texture of his downy hair. Clint kneels down again, ignoring the primal urge to grind against Phil's leg, choosing instead nuzzle his inner thigh, nosing at the coarse hair before running a cursory swipe of his tongue against the underside of Phil's cock. It's salty; Clint realises he wants more. He runs his mouth against the underside again and then Phil's balls. Phil lets out a strangled cry and twitches, even as Clint pulls away to wrap his hand around Phil by the shaft, , a bit too tight maybe, but Phil's not complaining. Precome is beginning to leak and Clint wonders what Phil would taste like. Clint's never been a big fan of giving head, but just looking at Phil, he knows that's a fact about himself that's going to change. Fucking fuck fuck. He _cannot_ believe he didn't bring any condoms.

"Hey Phil?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, we have no condoms. But just so you know, I'm clean- if you are too... I would really like to blow you."

Phil gasps again and it's a captivating sound. Clint thinks he could listen to it every night for the rest of his life. "I'm clean," he chokes out. "Yes, fuck...please."

Clint can feel the strength in Phil's tense muscles. His hand splaying across Phil's hip tells him how tense he's holding himself so he doesn't thrust his hips forward. Clint looks up and Phil's looking down at him with amazing wonder. He smiles at Phil and leans forward, wraps his mouth around the head and sucks. Phil hisses and tenses. "Slow down," he rasps out and Clint would grin if his mouth was full of cock, so instead he lets his mouth slack and takes in another two inches. Phil is so tense under him by the effort of staying still, but Clint's doesn't mind.  He wants Phil to have him however Phil wants. Clint grabs him by the hip and pushes.

But then Phil accidentally thrusts all the way into Clint's throat, which would have been ridiculously hot if Clint wasn't recovering from the flu. Unfortunately, Phil's thick and big and Clint already has a sore throat so he gags ( _kill me now,_ how embarrassing). Clint's eyes tear up and he pulls away, collapsing into a bout of coughs.

Phil is instantly beside him on the floor, rubbing his chest and back. Clint needs a few minutes before he can breathe normally again, and by then, the surging need in his nether regions have faded. _Fuck._ Now would be a very good time for the ground to swallow him up.  He tilts his head to look at Phil and smiles bashfully. "Um. Hi."

Phil smiles back. "Hey."

He feels all tongue-tied and awkward now, considering he'd just jumped Phil a few minutes ago. He means to look away from Phil, but his eyes catch onto Phil and then can't look away. The swollen pink lips, the sweat trailing down his hair line, those beautiful, kind, blue eyes. Clint begins to lean forward, aiming for Phil's lips again, but Phil raises a hand to stop Clint. "You're ill."

"So maybe a deep throat was a bad idea," Clint allows with an embarrassed grin, then leans forward again to palm Phil's now half-hard cock. He wants this too bad to run now, fuck being an awkward moron.

"Clint, maybe we should ta-..."

"Please," he pleads, "just let me take care of you."

Something in Phil's eyes changes, and that's how they find themselves naked and upstairs in Phil's bed, Phil's weight a comforting shadow over him. Phil's clearly got an oral fixation; he's taken to sucking and biting at Clint's sensitive nipples again, every once in a while switching to the other. Clint can't keep the embarrassing moans to himself, can't swallow the words that are flowing out of his mouth. "So beautiful - so good - you're so fucking good to me- fuck-" Phil's erection bumps against his belly and he remembers wanting to take care of Phil. He'd forgotten himself in the delight of Phil's mouth on him. Clint's going to come from that alone, but he wants to touch Phil so bad, yearns to make him come first. He grabs Phil by the waist and flips them until Clint's on top, ass grinding against Phil's leaking hard cock. Phil's eyes come wide open and two strong hands come up to his hip and hold him still. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

"That _was_ the plan, Phil," Clint tells him and takes a hold of his hands and brings them up to his chest, fingers entwining together. He rolls his hips, until suddenly Phil's cock is right between his ass cheeks, hot and big and comforting. They freeze together, eyes finding each other's gaze and holding on. Clint clenches and moves his body forward and Phil is gone, tension leaving his body as his eyes roll to the back of his head and his head collapses onto the pillow. Clint gasps at the heat as come smears all over his ass cheeks.

When Phil recovers, he takes his hands out of Clint's grasp and pulls himself up, leaving Clint sitting in Phil's lap, erection poking insistently against his stomach. Phil turns away to squirt some hand lotion from the night table onto his palm. He leans back in and presses his mouth against Clint's own even as he wraps a palm around Clint's cock and tugs.  Clint loves the feel of those lips against his skin, loves the gentleness behind it even as one strong arm wraps around Clint and brings their chests together. Clint in turn wraps his arms over Phil's shoulder. Phil's back is a prairie of straight lines and jagged scars that tell stories Clint hopes Phil will share with him one day. For now he just rubs his thumb into the skin in circles and tightens his legs around Phil's waist. Phil smiles into the kiss as he slips his hand further down to palms his balls, slick and hot.  

They trade tender kisses, hearts beating in turn with each other as Phil jerks him off, first slowly, and then faster and harder until there are flickering lights in Clint's vision. Waves of ecstasy send him reeling backwards but Phil's got him, wrapped around him and holding steady. When he finally finds the courage to look down at Phil, he's there, gentle smile and cobalt blue eyes looking at him in so much wonder, Clint has to know what he did to make him look at Clint like that. So he asks. "What?"

"You're extraordinary." Phil tells him, no pretence.

Clint swallows, words no longer making sense in his head. Instead he cups Phil's face with both his hands and kisses him, opening his mouth and letting Phil in. He doesn't have the right words so he hopes against all hope that his actions tell the story for him instead. Clint lets his hands roam again, lightly scratching Phil's woolly chest hair. Travelling further south, he inadvertently frowns as his fingers meet rapidly drying come.

Phil laughs into his mouth, "Maybe it's time we clean up and talk."

 Maybe. Or maybe he could just ignore the mess they've made and kiss some more. Phil tastes sweet, like strawberries and cream. Clint had never expected it, but now he can't get enough. He licks a stripe down Phil's jaw, his neck, the top of his ear. Phil gasps; Clint laughs out loud and bites his ear.

Phil pulls away with a groan and a laugh, "Come on, let's talk," and kisses him.

"Yes-" Clint gasps out, "-we should-" steals another kiss, "-really talk."

Okay. This looks pretty damn great.

* * *

They do manage to pull themselves away at some point, taking (separate) showers. Currently, they're sitting down cross legged and facing each other on the couch, clothed in Phil's pyjamas and respectively holding near scalding mugs of tea and  _Theraflu_ .

When he'd left the house, he'd had one goal in mind and that had been to talk to Phil. However, that was more or less the entire plan, so Clint doesn't actually know what it is he wants to say. Phil knows somehow, so he asks, "May I start?"

Clint nods.

"First of all, I'm going to be honest with you," Phil sighs, "I love Audrey." Clint had suspected as much, but it doesn't mean that the statement doesn't send liquid ice straight through his veins to his heart. "But Clint, that doesn't mean I don't have feelings for you. I will probably love her for the rest of my life, but that's not going to diminish the fact that I care about you." Clint nods. "Clint, look at me."

Clint realizes he's been focusing on the wall behind Phil. "Yeah?"

"You're not some sort of replacement, you know that, right?" Phil asks him. "Because you're not."

Clint inhales. "Yeah." He believes it. God help him, when did he learn to trust Phil at his word?

"That's reassuring," Phil remarks, tilting his head.

"I... just. I trust you, but I might need to hear you say that a couple more times." Clint allows. He knows Phil wouldn't lie to him. How can he, when Phil is looking at him so earnestly?

"She was the only one, you know?" Phil says after a moment, and Clint adores the way the colour blossoms from his neck up to his cheeks.

Then it clicks and _hold on one damn minute -_ what the- "Wait, have you ever been with a m-"

"-No," Phil lets out a nervous laugh. "It had only ever been her... I'm hoping by your expression that it wasn't so obvious?"

Clint swallows, remembering the way Phil had used his hands, his mouth on him. To think... "No. No you were... you were amazing." He says, putting the mug on the coffee table to lean forward and kiss him. Phil smiles into the kiss, and Clint pulls away grudgingly.

Phil flushes at that again, and Clint decides right then and there he wants to see that more often. "I didn't know what to do. I wanted you so much that night," Phil confesses, looking away. "Then in the morning there you were and I wasn't sure of anything. I wanted to wait, wanted to be sure before I even thought about anything with you. Then of course there was Skye to think about. But I lost control."

"You looked horrified. I was sure you'd realized you'd made a mistake with me." Clint says quietly.

"Never. I was angry at myself for acting too early. For kissing you before I was sure of anything. You're my daughter's teacher. If I wasn't certain of anything, I could have ruined the entire dynamic." Phil confesses. "Then you left, and I realised I wanted to be with you, and I wanted to talk and you wouldn't call back."

"I'm sorry. I have this habit of running away from my problems." Clint admits.

Phil smiles at that. "That's okay. If you need space, I get that. I'm sorry I probably filled up your message box. "

"That's okay." Clint says. If it weren't for those messages, he wouldn't be here right now anyway. "I just... I really like you. But I'm terrible at relationships... I'm a fuck up and a mess, and," Clint takes a deep breath, "with Skye and the school, I thought it was a terrible idea. And I'm sort of the king of terrible ideas."

Phil frowns. "Is it against regulation?"

Clint cracks up, "Regulation? Phil, this is elementary school, not boot camp."

Phil blushes and it's the most adorable thing he's ever seen, and Clint works with kindergartners.

"It's not, by the way. Against _regulation_ that is," Clint says with a teasing grin.  "Jane, uh, Ms. Foster-Odinson actually talked to me about it. She said it's fine. She would have liked it if we waited until Skye wasn't in my class anymore, though. But she said it's fine either way."

"I see." Phil murmurs. "They were all aware?"

"What? No. Well. They figured I liked you before I did," Clint rubs his nose. "I'm slow on the uptake to be honest."

Phil smiles a shy smile at him. "If it's alright with you, I would rather not wait. I trust you with Skye, and I really think we can make this work. She adores you, and I... I want the best for her. If it's too much then we'll take this slow, let her get used to the idea." He doesn't need to voice: to let you get used to the idea.

Clint sighs. "I want this Phil, but you should probably know in advance that I'm really not worth the trouble."

Phil puts down his mug and leans forward, cradling Clint's face with his hands. They're warm and dry, and Clint could drown in this feeling he gets from the way Phil looks at him. "You're not trouble. You're worth it. You make me feel alive, like I'm more than just Skye's dad, and I want to try. Clint, let's just try."

Clint leans forward and kisses him. "I don't trust myself, I don't trust that I won't change my mind and run, and that'll hurt you and Skye. You should know that at least."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then you can trust in my faith that you won't run unless you come back to me. Can you do that?"

_"I won't call again, Clint. I'm sorry for all the messages, if they were crowding you. I needed you to know it wasn't some mistake. You're not a mistake. It's okay if you need some time.  I still think we should talk at some point. But I'll wait however long you need me to."_

Clint can't help the tears that form in his eyes, and he can't hide them. Phil kisses them away as Clint opens his mouth to reply, "I can do that."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to CallipygianGoldfish for betaing, Max72 for reading over every draft and cheering me on, and shighola for New York- picking; this fic wouldn't be complete without all of you. 
> 
> Second, thank you so much, all you lovely readers, honestly, you guys are the best. EVER.
> 
> Third, I'm flying in 24 hours to India, and I have no idea when I'll have internet. Therefore, it's going to be a while before I reply to comments, so I promise I'm not ignoring any of you! I will reply when I can:)

_July_

"Look at me! I'm wearing a dress!" Wade shouts from the stage as he accepts his certificate from Jane. Standing next to Jane, Clint grins, even as Wade forgets to shake his hand and runs off the stage to the rest of his classmates and his mortified parents. He's the last of them and with that, Mr. Barton and Mr. Roger's classes at Kirby Lee Elementary School have officially graduated kindergarten.

Everyone applauds and as rehearsed, the children throw their caps in the air (well, they fly about as high as Clint's head) and slowly the procession makes its way towards the refreshment table. Steve throws an arm over Clint's shoulders and walks towards Tony, who's on the phone with Pepper.

"Nope, no can do. I need the doves, Pep. They need to be dyed red and gold. It's non-negotiable." He leans forward to accept a kiss from Steve, completely ignoring Clint. "I'm the boss here, just do as I say."

"Yeah, that's not gonna work, you know that, right?" Clint tells Tony, who gestures something no kindergartner should ever see in Clint's direction until Steve slaps at his hands.

Clint leaves his friends and heads towards the students and parents, making sure to talk to all of them. Anthony's parents are happy to know that the first grade teacher Jessica Jones also speaks ALS. The few minutes he has with Frigga and Odin are spent keeping Loki at arm's length from Thor. Not that the kicks are doing anything to Thor (Clint's pretty sure he can't feel them), but Clint is still their teacher for another hour, and it wouldn't do to let the mischief making child continue to assault the gym teacher. Wade's parents are happy, Kurt's father is disappointed in the lack of progress, though he seems happy to rage on about the educational system and leave him be. Finally, he makes his way to one particular parent. He doesn't like to be partial, but if he were to be honest, this one is his absolute favourite.

"-still think that Ward would do well under Melinda." Clint catches the end of Phil's sentence. Phil and Jasper are talking to each other, their respective daughters playing together on the floor nearby. They're both in full suits, and damn does Phil look good.

"You're out of your mind, Coulson. He keeps staring at her a-bum. He isn't going anywhere near my wife." Jasper bites back.

"Uh uh uh. We have an agreement. SHIELD stays inside SHIELD, not at the elementary school," Clint teases as he comes to stand beside Phil. It's not out of shame or fear that he's not kissing Phil; all his friends and most of his co-workers know about them, but they've only just eased Skye into the idea of them being more than teacher and parent, so PDAs are out of the question.

For now at least.

Phil sends him a raised eyebrow and a smile and Clint shrugs. "I don't make the rules man. Your freaky boss slash best friend Nick does. If he says that Ward staring at Melinda's... "Clint smirks, "assets is classified intel, then it's classified."

"And what assets are you talking about Mr. Barton?" comes a stern voice from behind him. He turns around to find Melinda May herself, arms crossed at her chest and shooting him a rather cross look.

"How would he know, he's been rather distracted by Phil's assets lately," Natasha quips up from out of nowhere. No seriously, it's like she's a superspy.

"I like you," Melinda tells a smirking Natasha after the laughter dies down (and hopefully Clint's flush fades).

"Natasha Romanoff. I'm this idiots' best friend. You must be Melinda May. I've heard a lot about you."

They exchange pleasantries before Skye walks up to her father, holding her hand out to him. "Can we go home now daddy?"

"Of course we can. Did you say bye to everyone?" Phil asks. She shakes her head and runs back to Jemma.

"Not so shy anymore is she?" Melinda comments.

"No," Phil smiles. "She's growing out of it."

They continue to make conversation until Skye returns, Kate in hand. "Ms. B wanted to say bye to you, daddy, she's going to go back to school and study to be like Mr. B!"

Kate grins at that. "Well, to be a teacher yes. I don't know if I want to be like Mr. B, to be honest."

"Ouch! And to think I gave you my valuable wisdom for an entire year!" Clint clutches at his chest. Skye laughs and raises her arms. Phil picks her up.

"Well, Ms. B," Phil says, holding out his hand towards Kate, "good luck with the rest of your studies, and next year's Olympic tournament." She shakes his hand.

"Thank you, I'm hoping to beat the old Hawkeye's record." She grins.

"You can go ahead and try, Hawkeye." Clint says. They smirk at each other while the other adults roll their eyes.

"I think you forgot to say good bye to one last person, Skye," Phil tells her.

"Who?"

"Well, me, silly!" Clint exclaims, a finger point to his chest.

"You? But you're coming home with us! Why would I say good bye?"

And well, no one really has an answer to that so Clint does the only thing he can, and does just that.

_August_

Skye is leaving today for the first day of summer camp and Clint's come over to say good bye. Clint's been living here more or less permanently since the end of the school year.  The plan had been to go slow. They'd both worried about moving too fast; Phil wanted to ease into things, and Clint was pretty sure it was so he wouldn't run away agai. But the thing is, Clint lives an hour away from Phil and with the school closed for summer vacation, it's a pain to go back and forth. In the end, when he realised he had more clothes at Phil's than at his own place, he'd called Natasha, hyperventilated, and then had a serious talk with Phil that basically went as follows.

"All my underwear is at your place."

"Well, then maybe you should just bring the rest of your stuff as well."

And that was that.

He's not ready to sell his place yet, though Lucky has moved permanently and becoming fast friends with Skye. Now it's eight am and they're dropping her off in three hours. He opens the main door as quietly as he possibly can and finds Phil in the kitchen making coffee. They share a quick kiss before Clint heads up to wake up Skye. She's missing from her bed, but Clint knows this little one well enough to know what game she wants to play today.

"Oh man oh man, where in the world is my little Skye?" Clint says out loud, lifting the bed covers with exaggerated movements. "Not under the covers, that she ain't."

He sighs loudly. "Oh but where oh where is my little Skye?" He checks under the bed. "Not under the bed either!"

Muffled giggles can be heard from the closet, and Clint has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from laughing out loud. "Now where has my little Skye gone off to?"

He ruffles the curtains as loudly as possible. "Not even behind the curtains! But where oh where is my little Skye?" He sits down on the bean chain with a loud plop and sighs again, placing his head in his hands. "What will I ever do without my little Skye?"

The door creaks open and Clint looks up to find Skye streaking towards him in a blur. "Here I am!!"

"There you are! I missed you!" Clint says while holding his arms out for her.

"I missed you too Clint!" She exclaims as she wraps her arms around his neck. 

"Did you sleep well?" He asks her, setting her on his knee.

"Yup. I dreamt about Lucky and a ship and a bright red car."

"Sounds exciting!" He tells her. "Now, did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes, I did. Can we have breakfast, dad- um-" Skye blushes and looks away, "Clint?" Clint's heart aches, it aches so much he thinks it's going to break clean into two pieces, one for Phil and one for Skye.

He doesn't bring it up though, instead letting her lead him by the hand down the stairs to the breakfast table. Skye talks nineteen to the dozen through breakfast and as she's getting ready. Even when she's alone in the bathroom they can hear her talking to herself. Clint and Phil look at each other and burst into laughter together.

"Hey listen," Phil begins, "Our chatterbox asked me something last night."

"Yeah?"

"If she could call you dada."

Clint stands straight and looks at Phil. "Oh. Is that okay?"

"With me?" Phil pauses, tilted his head. "Of course. Look, I know we've only been together for nine months, and it's not like we're married, and it's completely fine if you don't want that-"

Clint interrupts him by pulling Phil into a fierce kiss. "Yes. I'd love that." He says.

Phil smiles, eyes soft. "I love you."

Clint takes a short intake of breath. It's not that Clint hasn't suspected, Phil might not be the most expressive person in the world, but his eyes show everything, even if he's never said the words before. The words still hit him like a tow truck. His own words stick in his throat so he leans in and kisses Phil again, slow and deep, grabbing him by the neck to hold him close. Of course he loves Phil; he can barely remember not loving him.

And Phil, Phil understands and just accepts it, pulling away to leave a tender brush of his lips at the corner of Clint's eye.

"Daddy? Can we go now? I can't wait to see Jemma!" They turn towards the door to find Skye with her backpack and shoes all on, ready to go.

Phil laughs. "Honey, we're not leaving for another hour."

"But I don't want to be late, daddy!"

"You won't be. If we leave now, no one will be there when we get there. How about you put that backpack by the front door and come meet us on the couch. We can read together."

It's when they're all curled up on the couch, Clint and Phil side by side with Skye sprawled in their laps, that Phil says, "Skye don't you have a question you wanted to ask Clint?"

Skye sits up cross-legged and looks up at Clint, then at Phil. Then at Clint again. He smiles at her, letting her know everything's okay.

"Can..." and there's little timid Skye again. "Um. May I call you dada?"

"Yes, my little Skye," he whispers, throat lumpy as his eyes jump from Phil to Skye and to Phil again- to his family. "Yes, you may."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, Happy Holidays!


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